BANCROFT 

LIBRARY 

<• 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


M.  DEWITT 
BOOKSELLER 

eSO   FOURTKBNTH   ST.      "* 
OAKLAND.  CAI*. 


fy 


GERALD   FFRENCH'S 
FRIENDS 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR: 

JUDGE  LYNCH  ;-A  Romance  of  the  California 
Vineyards. 

CHECK    AND    COUNTERCHECK:    A   Tale    of 
Twenty-five  Hours. 

(With  Brander  Matthews.) 


GERALD    FFRENCH'S 
FRIENDS 


o 

GEORGE    H.  JESSOP 

* 


\ 


NEW   YORK 

LONGMANS,    GREEN,    &    CO. 

15  EAST  SIXTEENTH  STREET 
1889 


COPYRIGHT,  1889 

BY 
GEORGE  H.  JESSOP 


TROWS 

PRINTING  AND   BOOKBINDING  COMPANY, 
NEW  YORK. 


UFF/-FY 


TO 

BRANDER  MATTHEWS 

IN    GRATEFUL    ACKNOWLEDGMENT    OF    MUCH    KIND 
ENCOURAGEMENT  AND  VALUABLE  ADVICE 


TnO 


PREFACE. 


MR.  GERALD  FFRENCH'S  journalistic  career  on 
the  Pacific  Coast  covered  a  period  of  five  years — 
from  1873  to  1878.  In  this  time  it  was  his  fortune 
to  meet  a  great  many  Irishmen,  with  several  of 
whom  he  became  more  or  less  intimately  associated. 
The  Irish  colony  in  California  is  important  both  in 
numbers  and  influence,  and  Mr.  Ffrench's  situation 
offered  unusual  advantages  for  .a  study  of  the  more 
prominent  peculiarities  of  the  members  of  that  col- 
ony. The  purpose  of  these  chapters  is  to  depict  a 
few  of  the  most  characteristic  types  of  the  native 
Celt  of  the  original  stock — as  yet  unmixed  in  blood, 
but  modified  by  new  surroundings  and  a  different  civ- 
ilization. All  the  incidents  related  in  this  book  are 
based  on  fact,  and  several  of  them  are  mere  tran- 
scripts from  actual  life,  with  no  more  material  altera- 
tion than  seemed  necessary  to  throw  the  veil  of  fic- 
tion over  the  identity  of  the  characters. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  "IRISH  AIGLE,"  .  .  .  i 
A  DISSOLVING  VIEW  OF  CARRICK  MEAGHER,  ...  37 
AT  THE  TOWN  OF  THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ANGELS,  .  -73 
AN  OLD  MAN  FROM  THE  OLD  COUNTRY,  .  .  .105 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS .   143 

UNDER  THE  REDWOOD  TREE 197 


THE   RISE  AND   FALL  OF    'THE 
IRISH  AIGLE." 


THE   RISE  AND   FALL  OF    'THE 
IRISH  AIGLE." 


MR.  MARTIN  DOYLE,  Mr.  Andrew  Cummiskey, 
Mr.  Peter  O'Rourke,  Mr.  Frank  Brady,  and  Mr. 
James  Foley  were  seated  in  the  private  snuggery 
behind  Mr.  Matthew  McKeon's  sample-room  on 
Washington  Street,  San  Francisco.  It  was  late  in 
the  evening  of  Thanksgiving  Day,  1874,  and  these 
gentlemen  had  met  by  appointment  to  discuss  a 
very  serious  and  important  matter  of  business.  The 
apartment  was  small  and  its  atmosphere  was  chang- 
ing into  a  pale  blue  haze.  This  was  due  to  Mr. 
McKeon's  cigars,  one  of  which  was  wielded  by  each 
of  the  party.  From  the  saloon  outside  muffled 
sounds  of  holiday  revelry  stole  in,  swelling  into 
positive  uproar  when  the  host  opened  the  door, 
which  he  did  every  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  to  put 
in  his  head  to  inquire  if  "  the  jintlemen  wanted 
anything."  To  each  of  these  appeals  Mr.  Martin 
Doyle  made  the  same  reply  :  "  Nothin',  Mat,  noth- 


4  THE   RISE   AND  FALL    OF 

in' ;  we're  here  for  business,  not  for  dhrink."  And 
the  door  v/as  closed  igain. 

The  truth  was  that  all  five  were  patriots  of  the 
most  advanced  type,  and  had  met  to  determine 
upon  the  best  means  of  freeing  old  Ireland  from 
the  bloody  and  tyrannical  yoke  of  the  Saxon  op- 
pressor. It  is  true  that  "  opprissor "  was  the  word 
used  in  their  frequent  repetition  of  this  formula, 
but  the  meaning  was  the  same. 

In  spite  of  the  periodical  refusal  of  McKeon's 
offers  of  refreshment,  the  table  round  which  they 
were  seated  was  fairly  furnished  with  drinkables  ; 
perhaps  this  circumstance  emboldened  them  to  de- 
cline further  supplies.  Messrs.  Cummiskey,  Brady, 
O'Rourke,  and  Foley  paid  attention  to  a  portly 
bottle  of  Kinahan's  L  L,  the  contents  of  which 
they  qualified  in  varying  proportions  with  hot  water, 
lemon,  and  sugar.  Mr.  Doyle's  tastes  had  become 
so  vitiated  by  long  residence  in  America  as  to  lead 
him  to  prefer  simple  Bourbon  whiskey ;  but,  this  de- 
tail apart,  he  was  as  true  an  Irishman  still  as  on  the 
day,  now  some  twenty-five  years  ago,  when,  a  lank, 
ungainly  boy,  he  had  entered  Tapscott's  office  in 
Liverpool  and  engaged  passage  for  .the  land  of  prom- 
ise. Indeed,  it  was  Mr.  Doyle  who  had  called 
the  present  meeting  together. 


"THE   IRISH  AIGLE."  5 

By  ten  o'clock  the  bottles  were  almost  empty, 
and  the  cigar  smoke  had  grown  so  dense  that  the 
mild  features  of  Robert  Emmet,  who  stood  in  all 
the  glory  of  green  uniform  and  waved  a  feathered 
hat  exultantly  from  an  engraving  above  Mr.  Foley's 
head,  could  scarcely  be  distinguished.  Mr.  Martin 
Doyle's  notable  scheme  had  been  thoroughly  dis- 
cussed in  all  its  details,  and  the  proud  projector 
arose  somewhat  unsteadily. 

"  Fri'nds  and  fellow-countrymen,"  he  began,  "  the 
death-knell  of  Saxon  opprission  has  nearly  sthruck. 
Ye  can  come  in,  Mat  " — this  to  Mr.  McKeon,  whose 
head  appeared  in  the  doorway — "ye  can  come  in; 
we've  most  finished,  an'  we'll  be  havin'  a  dock  a 
dorrish  prisintly.  Well,  as  I. was  sayin',  the  Saxon 
opprissor " 

"  To  hell  wid  him !  "  broke  in  Foley,  impulsively, 
and  the  rest  of  the  company  contributed  a  deep- 
voiced  "  Amin ! " 

"  Misther  Foley,  and  jintlemen,"  expostulated  the 
speaker,  "  I  have  the  flure.  We're  agreed,  I  belave, 
that  the  pin  is  mightier  nor  the  sword.  All  in  favor 
of  that  proposition  will  signify  their  assint  by  sayin' 
'  Aye.'  Conthrary  minded,  '  No. '  The  ayes  have  it, 
and  it  is  so  orthered.  Therefore,  jintlemen,  we 
bein'  prisint  here  this  night  do  agree  each  to  con- 


0  THE   RISE   AND  FALL    OF 

thribute  the  sum  of  wan  hunthred  dollars,  bein'  five 
hunthred  dollars  in  all,  to  defray  the  immejit  ex- 
pinses  of  startin'  a  wakely  journal,  the  same  to  be 
called  <  The  Irish  Aigle.'" 

Enthusiastic  cheers  drowned  the  speaker's  voice. 
He  smiled,  answered  a  pantomimic  suggestion  of 
McKeon's  with  a  nod,  and,  draining  the  glass  which 
the  host  handed  to  him,  proceeded. 

_"  We  five  jintlemen  here  prisint,  havin'  the  cause 
of  an  opprissed  people  at  heart,  do  hereby  resolve 
ourselves  into  a  thryumvirate  to  solicit  further  con- 
thributions  from  local  pathriots,  an'  such  aid  in 
the  way  of  advertisements  an'  subscriptions  as  we 
may  be  able  to  secure.  All  in  favor  of  this  plan  will 
signify  the  same  by  sayin' '  Aye.'  Conthrary  minded, 
*  No.'  The  ayes  have  it,  and  it  is  so  orthered.  Mr. 
Foley,  Mr.  O'Rourke,  Mr.  Brady,  Mr.  Cummiskey, 
and  me  unworthy  silf,  as  members  of  the  Thryum- 
virate, will  git  to  work.  Long  life  and  success  to 

1  The  Irish  Aigle  ! '  " 

As  soon  as  the  toast  had  been  duly  honored,  Mr. 
Cummiskey  took  McKeon  aside  and  pointed  out  to 
him  the  immense  advantage  he  would  reap  from  ad- 
vertising his  saloon  in  the  new  organ.  The  repre- 
sentation which  appeared  to  have  the  most  weight 
with  the  liquor  dealer  lay  in  these  words: 


"  THE   IRISH  AIGLET  7 

"  Ye  see,  Mike,  the  offices  of  '  The  Aigle  '  will  be 
only  three  dures  from  you  and  sivin  from  Jerry  Mc- 
Manus.  Now,  ye  know  yersilf  pathriotism  is  dhry 
work,  and  McManus  knows  it  too." 

On  the  strength  of  this  argument  the  astute  Mr. 
Cummiskey  booked  a  ten-dollar  "  ad  "  on  the  spot, 
and  laid  the  foundation  of  that  generous  rivalry  be- 
tween the  two  saloon  keepers  which  afterward  be- 
came such  an  important  factor  in  the  well-being  of 
"  The  Irish  Eagle." 

The  preliminary  work  of  engaging  a  suitable 
office  and  hiring  type  was  undertaken  by  Mr.  Doyle, 
and  was  executed,  as  the  legend  in  his  own  shoe- 
store  set  forth,  "  with  promptness  and  despatch." 
Two  weeks  afterward  the  first  number  of  the  new 
paper  was  for  sale  on  the  news-stands,  glorious  with 
a  rampant  eagle  flaunting  a  Celtic  motto  from  its 
beak.  The  reading  matter  was  largely  made  up  of 
patriotic  poems  and  clippings  from  other  journals 
of  the  same  way  of  thinking,  but  the  editorial  page 
was  original — thoroughly,  unquestionably  original. 
The  united  wisdom  of  the  Thryumvirate  had  been 
expended  on  that  effort.  There  breathed  the  fiery 
utterances  of  Cummiskey,  the  butter-seller;  there 
sparkled  the  neat  epigram  of  O'Rourke,  the  truck- 
man ;  there  were  set  forth  the  lucid  arguments  of 


8  THE  RISE   AND  FALL    OF 

Foley,  the  tanner ;  there  the  reader  might  trace  the 
sportive  fancies  of  Brady,  the  bookbinder ;  and  the 
whole  bore  witness  to  the  massive  genius  of  Martin 
Doyle,  the  shoemaker.  It  was  a  great  number,  and 
its  appearance  was  duly  celebrated  at  McKeon's  by 
the  Thryumvirate,  resolved  for  the  moment  into  a 
mutual  admiration  society. 

At  this  meeting  a  new  arrangement  was  made. 
The  paper  should  be  edited,  not  by  the  whole  com- 
mittee acting  as  a  body,  but  by  the  individual 
members  holding  office  in  rotation.  The  five  issues 
succeeding  the  first  came-  out  in  this  way,  and  lost 
nothing  in  originality  even  if  they  suffered  in  va- 
riety. Peter  O'Rourke  began  the  series  and  Frank 
Brady  brought  up  the  rear.  Each  recurrent  editor 
was  thoroughly  satisfied  with  himself,  but  felt  hurt 
to  see  the  line  of  policy  he  had  projected  during 
his  week  of  office  ruthlessly  abandoned  by  his  suc- 
cessor. It  became  evident  that  something  must  be 
done  in  the  interests  of  uniformity.  The  paper 
was  pulling  five  ways  at  once,  and,  doubtless  for 
that  reason,  had  so  far  failed  to  deal  any  really  fatal 
blow  at  British  institutions.  Everyone  felt  this, 
and  the  eyes  of  the  nation  were  upon  Mr.  Martin 
Doyle.  That  gentleman  rose  to  the  occasion,  and 
called  an  extraordinary  meeting  of  the  Committee 


"THE   IRISH  AIGLET  9 

of  Stockholders.  The  enterprise  had  been  duly  in- 
corporated according  to  the  laws  of  California, 
under  the  name  of  "  The  Eagle  Publishing  Com- 
pany." The  session  took  place  in  McKeon's  saloon, 
and  Mr.  Doyle  laid  the  matter  before  his  colleagues 
in  a  neat  impromptu  speech. 

"  Ireland,"  he  remarked,  "  has  groaned  for  six 
hunthred  years  beneath  the  yoke  of  the  Saxon  op- 
prissor."  Mr.  Doyle's  oratory  had  the  merit  of 
taking  up  his  subject  at  the  very  beginning.  Hav- 
ing briefly  called  attention  to  the  principal  groans 
which  had  been  uttered  by  the  suffering  island  dur- 
ing the  centuries  referred  to,  the  speaker  proceeded. 

"  At  a  pravious  meetin'  of  this  honorable  body  it 
was  determined  that  the  best  and  most  immejitly 
practical  way  of  rightin'  the  wrongs  of  our  suffering 
counthry  was  to  dissiminate  them  broadly  through 
the  world  ;  to  call  on  all  Irishmen  in  ivery  climate 
under  heaven  to  organize  an'  be  free,  an'  to  paint 
the  black  behavior  of  the  Saxon  tyrant  in  the 
brightest  colors.  Wid  this  object  we  started  '  The 
Irish  Aigle,'  the  first  couple  of  numbers  of  which 
have  already  reached  England  and  sthruck  terror  to 
the  sowls  of  a  bloody  and  sowlless  aristocracy. 
But,  jintlemen,  we  cannot  disguise  from  ourselves 
the  fact  that  no  tanjible  result  has  yet  been  per- 


10  THE  RISE  AND  FALL    OF 

juced,  and  this  I  atthribute  to  the  followin'  rason, 
namely,  to  wit :  while  we  are  all  alike  annymated 
by  the  same  burnin'  love  of  freedom,  we  differ  in 
matters  of  daytail.  While  wan  advycates  the 
sword,  another  is  of  opinyun  that  an  open  risin' 
would  at  prisint  be  primature.  We  all  belave  in 
organization,  but  no  two  of  us  has  the  wan  notion 
as  to  the  manes  and  maning  of  organization. 
Therefore  the  paper  sez  wan  wake  wan  thing,  and 
another  wake  another,  which  is  confusin'  to  the  ig- 
norant pathriot ;  an'  that  many  of  our  best  pathriots 
is  ignorant,  it  is  not  you,  me  fri'nds,  nor  me  will 
deny.  The  ignorance  of  the  masses  is  another 
crime  on  the  bloody  bade-roll  of  Saxon  opprission. 
Therefore,  jintlemen,  what  I  propose  is  as  follows, 
namely,  to  wit :  that  we  do  ingage  a  jintleman  of 
scientific  attainments  an'  practised  litherary  voca- 
tions, to  idit  this  journal  an'  say  for  us  what  we 
have  to  say  betther  nor  we  can  say  it  for  ourselves, 
an'  such  a  jintleman  I  have  been  fortunate  enough 
to  discover  an'  unearth.  He  is  an  Irishman,  av 
coorse ;  a  native  of  the  county  Westmeath,  an', 
what  is  more  to  our  purpose,  a  graduate  of  Thrinity 
College,  Dublin.  He  is  young,  but  sure  Robert 
Emmet  was  young,  an'  he'll  come  all  the  ch'aper  on 
that  account  ;  an'  he  is  racently  from  the  ould 


IRISH  AIGLE:*  u 

counthry,  an'  therefore  posted  in  all  the  latest  day- 
tails  of  its  sufferin's.  His  name  is  Ffrench,  where- 
fore we  may  assume  that  he  is  a  near  relative  of  the 
immortal  liberathor,  Daniel  O'Connell.  Now,  jin- 
tlemin,  we  can  arrange  the  business  part  later ;  all  I 
want  to  do  now  is  to  take  the  sinse  of  this  Thry- 
umvirate  in  the  ingagin'  of  an  iditor  for  '  The  Irish 
Aigle.'  All  in  favor  of  that  proposition  will  signify 
the  same  by  sayin'  '  Aye.'  Conthrary  minded,  'No.' 
The  ayes  have  it,  an'  it  is  so  orthered." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  approval  with 
which  this  speech  was  received.  "  A  great  idea  in- 
tirely,"  "  Couldn't  be  betther,"  "  A  sthroke  of  jan- 
ius,"  were  a  few  of  the  phrases  in  which  the  Thry- 
umvirate  endorsed  the  proposal  of  its  spokesman. 
Mr.  Doyle,  with  a  brief  "  Ye'll  excuse  me,  jintle- 
min,"  and  a  modest  consciousness  of  having  de- 
served well  of  his  country,  withdrew. 

"  Ye  done  grand  work  wid  your  issue  of  the  paper, 
Andy,"  remarked  Mr.  Foley  ;  "  it  was  raally  great." 

"  I  thought  it  wasn't  bad,  Jim,  till  I  seen  yours," 
responded  Mr.  Cummiskey,  "an'  thin  I  seen  what  a 
man  of  native  originality  c'u'd  do  wid  the  subject;  " 
and  so,  like  hand  and  glove  patriots  as  they  were, 
each  proceeded  to  exalt  his  neighbor  and  compla- 
cently to  drink  in  such  dews  of  applause  as  de- 


12  THE  RISE  AND  FALL    OF 

scended  on  himself,  till  Mr.  Doyle  returned  and  in- 
troduced Gerald  Ffrench. 

"  Mr.  Ffrench,  jintlemen,"  he  said  ;  "  a  man  of  rare 
scientific  attainments  and  university  eddication." 
All  rose,  and  one  after  another  grasped  Mr.  Ffrench's 
hand.  This  operation  was  conducted  silently,  and 
reminded  Gerald  of  a  chorus  of  conspirators  in 
opera-bouffe.  As  Mr.  Foley,  the  last  to  advance, 
dropped  the  young  man's  fingers,  he  remarked  in  a 
husky  whisper,  and  with  a  suggestion  of  emotion 
in  his  voice  : 

"  This  is  a  great  day  for  Ireland." 

"  Ye're  right,  it  is,"  said  Mr.  O'Rourke.  Then  he 
stepped  to  the  door  and  called  :  "  Mountain  dew, 
Mat,  and  bug  juice  for  Mr.  Doyle.  Ye  can  drink 
the  ould  stuff  ?  "  he  added,  turning  to  Gerald.  Ger- 
ald admitted  that  he  could,  and  then  the  conversa- 
tion languished.  All  resumed  their  seats,  and  the 
ten  eyes  of  the  Thryumvirate  were  levelled  at  the 
young  man.  He  bore  the  scrutiny  uneasily,  and  his 
color  rose.  They  were  "  taking  stock  "  of  him. 

Gerald  Ffrench  was  about  twenty-three,  and  a 
fair  specimen  of  a  class  of  young  men  of  which  the 
Silent  Sister  turns'out  several  hundred  every  year. 
At  this  time  he  had  been  in  America  some  eight 
months ;  in  San  Francisco  less  than  two.  He  came 


'  *  THE   IRISH  A IGLE. "  13 

of  a  good  old  Irish  family,  and  had  received  the 
younger  son's  portion  of  two  thousand  pounds  im- 
mediately after  his  twenty-first  birthday.  He  had 
read  a  little  for  the  bar,  and  did  not  like  it ;  he  had 
thought  of  entering  the  army,  but  did  not  quite 
fancy  it ;  on  the  whole,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
could  not  do  better  than  to  try  his  fortune  in  the 
United  States.  He  left  Ireland  for  New  York,  but 
did  not  travel  direct.  He  first  visited  London,  and 
thence  passed  over  to  Paris.  He  found  the  latter 
city  very  fascinating,  and  remained  there  some  time. 
Then,  as  it  was  so  close  at  hand,  he  thought  it  a 
pity  not  to  see  the  Vienna  Exhibition,  and  he  went  to 
Vienna  and  saw  it.  The  young  fellow,  accustomed 
to  deny  himself  nothing,  and  with  more  money  in 
his  pocket  than  he  had  ever  possessed  before,  did 
not  exercise  a  becoming  frugality.  When  he  had 
had  enough  of  Europe  he  sailed  for  America,  and 
New  York  was  scarcely  less  to  his  taste  than  the 
Old  World  capitals.  He  lingered  there  for  sev- 
eral months,  but  finding  himself  unappreciated,  he 
started  for  California.  He  selected  the  route  by 
Panama,  and  treated  the  voyage  over  tropic  seas  as 
a  veritable  pleasure  trip.  In  San  Francisco  he  re- 
mained, possibly  because  he  had  not  money  enough 
left  to  go  farther.  It  was  not  till  he  had  changed 


14  THE   RISE   AND  FALL    OF 

his  last  twenty-dollar  piece,  however,  that  he  realized 
his  position.  He  had  received  all  he  was  entitled 
to  and  had  spent  it.  That  twenty  dollars,  repre- 
sented by  a  fast-diminishing  pile  of  silver,  must  be 
replaced  by  his  own  exertions.  For  what  was  he 
fitted,  this  young  man  endowed  with  nothing  but 
health,  a  good  education,  and  a  certain  amount  of 
superficial  experience  ?  He  did  not  know.  He 
wandered  about  the  streets  and  envied  the  black- 
smiths and  the  bricklayers.  He  would  willingly 
have  bartered  his  education  for  a  good  trade.  Then 
he  began  to  write  for  the  papers,  but  speedily  found 
that  the  qualifications  which  had  won  him  an  occa- 
sional medal  for  composition  at  Trinity  College 
were  of  no  value  at  all  in  the  city  department  of  a 
newspaper.  Again  and  again  were  his  contributions 
rejected  with  the  curt  remark,  "We've  no  room  to 
print  essays.".  He  offered  to  write  editorials,  but 
was  laughed  at,  though  he  felt  he  could  have 
amended  the  halting  English  of  many  of  those  ora- 
cular utterances.  His  rounds  of  the  journals  en- 
tailed much  wear  of  heart  and  of  shoe-leather,  and 
but  little  silver  solace.  Still  he  made  a  few  acquaint- 
ances, and  it  was  one  of  these,  an  Irishman,  and  the 
city  editor  of  an  evening  paper,  who  introduced 
him  to  Doyle  as  the  very  man  for  "  The  Irish  Eagle." 


"THE   IRISH  AIGLET  I  5 

Gerald  had  jumped  at  the  idea  eagerly,  and  had 
succeeded  in  impressing  Mr.  Doyle  with  a  due  sense 
of  his  attainments.  His  eyes  sank  before  those  of 
the  Thryumvirate,  however.  A  single  question 
from  any  one  of  those  shrewd-looking,  middle-aged 
Irishmen  might  prick  the  bubble  and  display  him  in 
his  true  colors — as  a  man  who  knew  no  more  of  the 
routine  work  necessary  for  a  paper  than  he  did  of 
casting  its  type.  He  might  have  reassured  himself. 
Not  one  was  there  who  did  not  regard  him  as  an 
incarnate  battering-ram,  built  expressly  to  level  the 
battlemented  tyranny  of  England  in  the  dust. 

McKeon  entered  with  the  refreshments.  "  Will 
ye  oblige  us  wid  the  last  number  of  '  The  Irish 
Aigle?';>  said  Mr.  Doyle,  solemnly.  Mr.  Cum- 
miskey  on  the  right,  Mr.  Foley  on  the  left,  Mr. 
O'Rourke  in  front,  and  Mr.  Brady  from  the  rear, 
simultaneously  proffered  one  to  their  chairman. 

Gerald,  who  had  been  led  to  study  the  paper  by 
the  first  hint  of  the  honor  in  store  for  him,  saw  this 
and  hurriedly  restored  his  own  copy  to  his  pocket. 
The  action,  however,  had  not  passed  unnoticed,  and 
called  forth  an  approving  smile  from  the  Thryum- 
virate. Mr.  Doyle  took  a  paper  from  the  man  near- 
est him,  and  waved  it  in  the  air.  He  was  evidently 
loaded  and  primed  for  a  speech. 


1 6  THE   RISE   AND  FALL    OF 

"  By  the  unanimous  vote  of  mesilf  an'  colleagues," 
he  began,  "  you,  Mr.  Ffrench,  are  called  to  the  id- 
itorial  chair  of  this  journal.  The  stipind  will  be 
siventeen  dollars  and  a  half  a  wake."  He  paused 
to  let  his  words  have  their  due  effect.  Gerald 
leaned  back  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  It  would  go  hard 
but  he  could  retain  his  position  for  one  week  at 
least,  and  $17.50  looked,  to  him  like  boundless 
wealth.  The  Thryumvirate  was  watching  him. 
He  felt  that  he  was  called  on  to  say  something. 

"  Very  liberal,  most  happy,"  he  muttered ;  and 
then,  as  no  one  spoke  and  the  silence  became  em- 
barrassing, he  ventured  to  add,  "  By  the  bye — '  Irish 
Eagle,'  you  know.  Isn't  it  rather  an  odd  name  ?  " 

"Why?"  asked  Mr.  Doyle,  severely;  and  Mr. 
Brady,  who  had  not  suggested  it,  hastened  to  add : 
"  Maybe  Mr.  Ffrench  could  think  of  a  betther  ?  " 

Thus  appealed  to,  Mr.  Ffrench,  after  some  hesita- 
tion, thought  that  a  more  personal  name — some- 
thing like  the  "  Fenian,"  or  the —  He  was  inter- 
rupted by  a  very  tempest  of  opposition,  and  sat 
appalled  at  the  fury  of  the  storm  he  had  called 
forth. 

"  Fenian !  "  "  The  dhirty  rats  !  "  "  The  cowardly 
time-servers  !  "  "  They're  the  curse  of  Ireland  !  " 
Such  were  the  exclamations  that  broke  from  the 


"THE   IRISH  AIGLE."  I? 

group  ;  but  presently  Mr.  Doyle's  voice  rose  in  con- 
nected statement,  dominating  the  confusion. 

"Misther  Ffrench,"  he  said,  "I'd  have  ye  to 
know  that  this  organization  is  thorough.  We  are 
no  advycates  of  half-measures,  and  we  propose  to 
free  Ireland,  if  we  have  to  swim  in  blood  to  do  it. 
We  are  advanced  Nationalists ;  we're  far  beyant  the 
Fenians  !  We  say,  '  Burn  London/  '  Burn  Liver- 
pool,' '  Import  cholera  germs  into  Dublin  Castle ! ' 
'Blow  up  Windsor  Castle ! '  '  Put  to  the  sword  the 
Houses  of  Parleymint' — ay,  Irish  mimbers  and  all, 
for  they're  no  betther  nor  the  rest,  keepin'  terms 
wid  the  bloody  Saxon  opprissor.  An'  if  an  army 
of  thim  half-hearted  -Fenians  was  in  it,  I'd  say  blow 
thim  up  too ;  for  they're  no  use,  an'  they're  only 
palterin'  wid  the  liberty  of  their  counthry.  The  day 
of  Vinegar  Hill  is  over.  It's  not  in  the  open  field 
we'll  honor  thim  by  burnin'  powdther,  but  undher 
their  houses,  undher  their  bridges,  undher  their 
public  buildin's,  an'  that's  the  mission  of  '  The  Irish 
Aigle.'" 

Gerald's  astonishment  that  any  class  of  Irishmen 
should  be,  as  Mr.  Doyle  phrased  it,  more  "ad- 
vanced "  than  the  Fenians,  was  swallowed  up  in 
amazement  at  this  vigorous  denunciation.  Like 
most  young  Irishmen  of  family  and  education  he 


1 8  THE   RISE   AND  FALL    OF 

had  no  sympathy  whatever  with  the  discontent  of 
the  peasantry,  and,  indeed,  he  had  only  vaguely 
heard  of  its  existence  before  he  came  to  America. 
There,  however,  he  had  soon  found,  to  his  surprise, 
that  from  the  mere  fact  of  his  being  an  Irishman,  it 
was  accepted  as  inevitable  that  he  must  hate  Eng- 
land and  everything  English.  To  the  brother  of 
the  Conservative  member,  Edward  Ffrench  of  Bal- 
lyvore  Park,  all  this  had  seemed  absurd  enough, 
but  he  had  let  it  pass  without  comment.  Now  he 
found  himself  the  central  figure  of  a  knot  of  men 
who  talked  bloodshed,  and  savored  the  word  as 
they  uttered  it  as  though  it  were  pleasant  of  taste 
— men  who  condemned  war  and  battle-fields  as  not 
murderous  enough,  and  who  scouted  as  insuffi- 
ciently villainous  the  most  reckless  organization  he 
had  ever  heard  of.  However,  brief  as  had  been  his 
newspaper  experience,  he  had  learned  that  in  journ- 
alism it  is  not  seldom  necessary  to  support  one  side 
openly  while  secretly  holding  the  opposite  tenets. 
This  he  had  come  quite  prepared  to  do,  and  this  ex- 
plosion, murder,  and  sudden  death  horrified  him  for 
a  moment,  till  the  very  extravagance  of  the  lan- 
guage brought  its  own  comfort.  It  was  something 
to  laugh  at,  not  to  revolt  from,  this  little  group  of 
Irishmen  proposing  to  wreck  Great  Britain  from 


"  THE   IRISH  AIGLE."  19 

the  back-room  of  a  San  Francisco  saloon  ;  and  then 
there  was  the  $17.50  to  think  of.  He  could  not  af- 
ford the  luxury  of  high  principles.  He  would 
humor  the  joke,  and  write  an  article  on  blowing  up 
the  Thames,  if  they  wanted  it.  It  would  put 
money  in  his  pocket  and  would  not  affect  the 
Thames. 

"With  regard  to  the  title  of  this  journal,"  pro- 
ceeded Doyle,  waving  the  sheet,  "  it  was  silicted  by 
me  wid  the  approval  of  me  colleagues  here  for  the 
followin'  raisons,  namely,  to  wit :  In  the  first  place, 
the  aigle  is  the  emblem  of  America ;  for  we  are  all 
American  citizens,  an'  the  counthry  of  our  adoption 
is  sicond  in  our  affections  only  to  that  of  our  birth. 
In  the  nixt  place,  the  aigle  is  universally  regarded 
as  the  burrud  of  freedom  :  I  niver  seen  wan  free  me- 
silf,  nor  any  other  way  than  in  a  cage  at  Wood- 
ward's Garden  beyant,  but  it  is  so  rigarded.  This 
is  c  The  Irish  Aigle ; '  high  may  she  soar,  an'  long 
may  she  wave,  an'  deep  be  her  talents  in  the  black 
heart  of  the  Saxon  opprissor ! " 

As  soon  as  the  wild  applause  which  this  senti- 
ment evoked  had  subsided,  Mr.  O'Rourke  rose.  "  I 
propose,'5  said  he,  "  that  we  do  now  adjourn  to  the 
office,  and  install  Mr.  Ffrench  in  the  iditorial  chair, 
afther  havin'  inthrojuiced  him  to  our  foreman.  All 


20  THE  RISE   AND  FALL    OF 

in  favor  of  this  proposition  will  signify  the  same 
by " 

But  as  all  rose  at  once,  it  was  not  considered  nec- 
essary to  press  the  question  to  a  vote. 

The  editorial  offices  of  "  The  Irish  Eagle  "  occu- 
pied a  single  room  at  the  top  of  a  neighboring  build- 
ing. The  apartment  was  divided  into  two  unequal 
portions  by  a  board  partition  which  did  not  reach 
to  the  ceiling.  In  the  outer  room  was  the  "  plant" 
of  the  paper,  consisting  of  a  few  cases  of  type,  a 
roller  for  "pulling proofs,"  and  half  a  dozen  galleys. 
There  was  an  imposing-stone  in  the  centre  on  which 
lay  the  forms  just  as  they  had  come  back  from  the 
printer.  A  shaky  old  man  was  distributing  type  at 
one  of  the  cases.  To  him  Gerald  was  duly  pre- 
sented. "  Mr.  Ffrench,  this  is  our  foreman,  Mr. 
Mike  Carney.  Mike,  this  is  the  new  iditor.  Come 
inside  now,  an'  take  charge ; "  and  the  whole  party 
trooped  into  the  sanctum. 

It  was  a  small  place,  and  seemed  crowded  when 
all  had  entered.  The  furniture  was  scanty,  consist- 
ing of  a  large  table,  a  few  office  stools,  and  an  ar- 
rangement of  shelves  against  the  partition  for  the 
accommodation  of  the  unsold  copies  of  the  paper. 
The  table  was  littered  with  exchanges,  and  a  volume 
of  the  poems  of  Thomas  Davis  lay  on  the  floor. 


"THE   IRISH  AIGLE."  21 

Mr.  Doyle  at  once  proceeded  to  business.  "  The 
paper  goes  to  priss  Fridays,"  he  said ;  "  so  ye  see, 
this  bein'  Monday,  ye  have  no  time  to  lose.  How 
are  ye  off  for  copy,  Mike  ?" 

"  Bad,"  answered  the  old  printer.  "  I've  a  little 
reprint,  but  no  original  matter  at  all." 

"  We'll  soon  remedy  that,"  said  Gerald,  cheerfully, 
with  all  the  ready  complaisance  of  a  new  hand. 
"  How  many  editorials  do  you  generally  have  ?  " 

"  The  more  the  merrier,"  said  Mr.  Cummiskey. 
"  Now,  here's  a  good  subject — '  The  Duty  of  the 
Day.'  I  started  it  mesilf."  Gerald  took  a  slip  of 
manuscript  from  his  hand.  It  was  written  in  pencil, 
and  showed  many  corrections  and  interlineations. 
It  was  not  easy  to  read,  but  the  new  editor  was  in 
no  position  to  neglect  a  hint. 

"  Since  MacMurragh  flourished  and  died  a 
traitor's  death,"  so  Mr.  Cummiskey's  contribution 
began,  "  there  has  been  only  the  one  duty  for  Irish- 
men, and  that  is  vengeance."  Gerald  paused  in 
thought.  Who  was  MacMurragh,  when  had  he 
flourished,  and  for  what  had  he  been  hanged  ?  He 
wished  that  his  new  employers  would  not  deal  so 
much  with  obscure  history.  He  ventured  an  ob- 
servation. 

"  Undoubtedly  the  judicial  murder  of  the  unfortu- 


22  THE   RISE   AND  FALL    OF 

nate  MacMurragh  calls  for  exemplary  vengeance,"  he 
began.  A  howl  of  execration  interrupted  him.  "  The 
vilyan  !  The  thraitor  !  The  bloody  agint  of  Saxon 
opprission  !  "  Evidently  he  was  on  the  wrong  track, 
and  MacMurragh  was  anything  but  popular.  Gerald 
read  the  paragraph  again,  but  it  furnished  no  new 
light.  "  Let  me  see,"  he  said,  tentatively  ;  "  what 
was  the  exact  date  of  MacMurragh's — ah — ahem — 
death  ?  " 

"  Elivin  hundhred  an'  sivinty-sivin,"  shouted  the 
Thryumvirate  as  one  man.  Evidently  MacMurragh 
belonged  to  a  familiar  historical  epoch.  Gerald 
swallowed  his  surprise  and  merely  remarked,  "  Ah, 
yes  ;  I  had  a  dispute  with  Professor  Galbraith  once 
on  that  very  point.  He  maintained  that  it  was 
1 1 88,  but  I  knew  I  was  right." 

"  Av  coorse  ye  were,"  said  Cummiskey,  triumph- 
antly. "  Sivinty-sivin,  an'  I'll  maintain  it  agin  the 
wurruld." 

"  But,"  ventured  Gerald,  "  as  your  article  is  on 
the  duty  of  the  day,  don't  you  think  we  are  going 
back  rather  far  for  an  illustration  ?  " 

"  Who  the  divil  wants  an  illusthration  ?  It's  an 
apoch  :  since  Dermot  MacMurragh — bad  cess  to  him 
for  that  same — invited  the  English  into  Ireland,  the 
counthry  has  nivir  been  quit  of  them.  Our  duty 


"THE   IRISH  AIGLE."  2$ 

began  that  day,  an'  it  hasn't  changed  since.      It's  to 
kill  ivery  Englishman." 

"  But  to  do  that  we  must  organize !  "  broke  in 
Foley,  springing  on  his  favorite  hobby  at  a  bound  ; 
"  organize  an'  be  free  !  That's  the  lesson  to  tach 
Irishmen  to-day.  Make  yer  first  article  on  organi- 
zation, Mr.  Ffrench." 

"With  pleasure,"  said  Gerald.     "Do  you  advo 
cate  any  particular  plan  of  organization  ?  " 

"  Niver  heed  the  plan.  Jist  organize.  Whin 
Irishmen  the  wurruld  over  are  wilded  into  a  solid 
nevvclayus,  thin  the  death-knell  of  Saxon  oppris- 
sion  will  be  flashed  abroad  visible  as  the  firmy- 
mint.  Thim's  the  very  wurruds  I  stated  in  me 
own  iditorial  on  the  subject." 

"  And  a  noble  sintiment  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Doyle. 

"  Nobly  expressed,"  added  Gerald,  with  a  bow  to 
Mr.  Foley,  thereby  making  that  gentleman  a  friend 
for  life. 

"  Without  wishin'  to  dictate  to  ye,  Mr.  Ffrench," 
remarked  Doyle,  after  a  brief  pause,  "  I'll  ax  if  ye 
know  anything  about  dynamite." 

"  I  know  it  is  a  very  powerful  explosive,''  said 
Gerald,  somewhat  surprised,  "  and  that  it  bids  fair 
to  take  the  place  of  all  other  preparations  of  nitro- 
glycerine ;  but  why  ?  " 


24  THE   RISE   AND   FALL    OF 

"  Why  ? "  repeated  Mr.  Doyle,  in  a  deep  voice. 
"  Because  what  Ireland  needs  is  a  powerful  explos- 
ive ;  what  England  will  get  is  a  powerful  explosive ; 
that's  the  why,  an'  the  chief  mission  of  '  The  Irish 
Aigle '  is  to  bear  powerful  explosives  to  the  suffer- 
in'  children  of  Erin,  whether  they  cower  beneath  the 
glassears  of  the  North  or  hide  their  woes  under  the 
thropics.  Come,  jintlemin,  that's  all  that's  to  be 
said.  We  won't  waste  Mr.  Ffrench's  time  any 
longer.  If  ye  want  any  information  as  to  daytails, 
Mike  Carney's  the  boy  to  give  'em  ye.  Good  day 
to  ye,  sir."  And  the  Thryumvirate  filed  out,  leav- 
ing Gerald  to  collect  such  meaning  as  he  might 
from  the  suggestions  offered,  and  to  condense  them 
into  an  article  which  should  teach  the  Irish  race 
that  the  duty  of  the  day  was  to  organize  dynamite. 

As  time  wore  on,  Gerald  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  a  difficult  task.  Having  entered  upon  his 
duties  with  a  tacit  assumption  of  qualification,  he 
felt  obliged  to  live  up  to  the  character  he  had 
brought  with  him.  This  prevented  him  from  ask- 
ing questions,  at  least  directly,  and  he  was  constantly 
on  the  watch  to  pick  up  any  unconsidered  crumbs 
of  knowledge  that  might  fall  in  his  way.  Being  en- 
gaged as  an  expert,  he  could  not  learn  as  an  ap- 
prentice, and  yet  the  trivial  details  of  even  such  an 


"THE   IRISH  AIGLE."  2$ 

office  as  that  of  "  The  Irish  Eagle  "  were  all  new  to 
him.  Mike  Carney  quickly  fathomed  his  ignorance  ; 
but  the  old  printer  was  good-natured,  and  not  only 
kept  the  young  man's  secret,  but  made  an  elaborate 
pretence  of  belief  in  him.  This,  of  course,  did  not 
impose  on  Gerald,  who  reciprocated  by  always  ob- 
serving the  fiction  of  Carney's  sobriety,  and  the  two 
got  on  very  well  together.  The  editor  learned 
something  every  day.  He  soon  came  to  distinguish 
between  brevier  and  nonpareil,  and  he  corrected  his 
proofs  without  marking  errors  in  the  middle  of  the 
line  as  they  happened  to  occur.  The  Thryumvirate 
never  suspected  that  an  editor  was  being  educated 
in  the  office,  and  the  tangible  results,  as  shown  in 
the  paper,  were  on  the  whole  satisfactory.  Gerald 
always  wrote  at  least  three  articles — one  on  organi- 
zation, one  on  the  manifest  duty  of  Irishmen,  and 
one  on  the  theory  and  practice  of  dynamite.  These 
essays — for  they  were  nothing  less — abounded  in 
long  words  and  involved  sentences,  and  in  so  far  as 
they  were  incomprehensible  to  the  patriots  gave 
eminent  satisfaction.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of 
the  new  editor's  ability  and  scholarly  attainments. 
But  Doyle,  who  had  all  his  life  been  accustomed  to 
call  a  spade  a  spade,  and  an  Englishman  a  bloody, 
brutalized  robber,  detected  a  certain  weakness  in  the 


26  THE  RISE   AND   FALL    OF 

academic  phrases  of  the  young  collegian.  "  Our 
hereditary  enemies,"  "  the  despoilers  of  our  land," 
etc.,  were  to  the  Irishman  far  less  direct  arid  forcible 
than  "  spawn  of  the  Saxon  thraitor,"  or  "  red  and 
pitiless  monster,"  and  Gerald's  incapacity  to  realize 
the  fact  that  an  Englishman  of  moral  life  or  good 
intentions  is  as  much  a  creature  of  fancy  as  the 
unicorn,  was  at  first  rather  trying  to  the  patriot. 
"  But  he's  young,"  Doyle  would  remark  by  way  of 
consolation,  "  and  he  hasn't  been  ground  under  the 
heel  of  the  Saxon  for  over  forty  years  as  I  have  ;  " 
which,  as  the  speaker  had  been  a  resident  in  the 
United  States  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  or  there- 
about, was  quite  likely  to  be  the  truth. 

But,  all  in  all,  Gerald  suited  them  very  well. 
His  editorial  utterances  took  on  more  of  the  tone  of 
his  surroundings,  and  while  still  marshalling  his 
verbal  three-deckers  for  weekly  action,  he  contrived 
now  and  then  to  throw  a  hot  shot  into  the  enemy's 
stronghold  which  delighted  Doyle  himself.  As  for 
Foley,  he  had  sworn  by  the  young  man  from  the 
first,  and  committed  to  memory  long  passages  from 
the  paper  and  recited  them  as  opportunity  offered, 
either  in  the  bosom  of  his  family  or  in  McKeon's 
saloon.  Gerald  soon  began  to  enter  with  spirit  into 
the  game  of  vilifying  the  Saxon.  His  common^ 


"  THE   IRISH  AIGLET  27 

sense  told  him  that  no  harm  could  result  from  the 
frothy  nonsense,  and  he  even  took  a  mischievous 
pleasure  in  sending  his  brother  a  copy  of  the  paper 
each  week.  These,  however,  were  addressed  by  the 
boy  who  wrote  the  wrappers.  He  would  not  have 
identified  himself  with  the  sheet  for  twice  his  week- 
ly salary. 

This  same  salary  was  the  principal  thorn  in  young 
Ffrench's  bed  of  roses.  It  was  never  paid.  He  re- 
ceived money,  to  be  sure,  when  his  necessities  urged 
him  to  press  for  it ;  but  it  was  five  dollars  at  one 
time,  two  at  another — sometimes  only  fifty  cents. 
"  When  the  paper  gets  upon  its  legs  " — that  was  the 
only  answer  he  received  when  he  asked  for  a  settle- 
ment. There  was  no  regular  paymaster.  A  request 
addressed  to  Mr.  Doyle,  who  seemed  the  moving 
spirit,  would  call  forth  some  such  answer  as, "  Money  ? 
Av  coorse  ;  why  not  ?  Can  ye  get  along  wid  three 
dollars  till  to-morrow?5'  But  to-morrow,  in  the 
sense  that  Gerald  looked  for  it,  never  came,  and  the 
Eagle  Publishing  Company  sank  deeper  and  deeper 
into  his  debt. 

Indeed,  the  paper  was  not  prosperous.  Sub- 
scriptions fell  into  arrears ;  advertisers  did  not  pay 
up.  McManus  withdrew  the  card  of  his  saloon  al- 
together, on  the  ground  that  McKeon  received  all 


28  THE  RISE   AND  FALL    OF 

the  office  patronage.  Carney  was  forthwith  pro- 
vided with  a  dollar  and  instructed  to  go  out  and 
invest  it  over  McManus's  bar.  This  he  did  with 
scrupulous  exactitude,  but  without  result,  unless  his 
incapacity  for  work  during  the  remainder  of  the  day 
can  be  regarded  as  such.  The  change  of  whiskey 
didn't  agree  with  him,  he  said.  The  following  week 
McKeon  reduced  his  advertisement.  "  As  long  as 
McManus  don't  put  his  card  in  the  paper,"  argued 
McKeon,  "  there's  no  sinse  in  my  carryin'  such  a 
big  '  ad.' "  Truly  the  "  Eagle  "  had  fallen  on  evil 
days. 

The  fact  was  that,  though  all  five  of  the  original 
promoters  were  enthusiastic  in  their  self-sought  mis- 
sion, they  had  not  calculated  upon,  nor  could  they 
afford,  the  constant  drain  which  the  paper  made 
upon  them.  The  office  rent  had  to  be  paid  ;  also 
the  paper  bill,  and  the  weekly  account  for  press- 
work.  Gerald  and  Carney  were  less  imperative 
items  in  the  expense  account,  and  they  had  to  wait 
accordingly.  The  latter  was  not  exacting  :  as  long 
as  he  had  a  few  "  bits "  to  spend  for  liquor  he 
seemed  satisfied,  and  Gerald  was  at  least  making  a 
living,  such  as  it  was,  which  was  more  than  he  had 
been  able  to  do  before.  His  receipts  may  have 
averaged  eight  dollars  a  week,  and  he  paid  the  bal- 


"THE   IRISH  AIGLE."  2$ 

ance  willingly  as  the  price  of  experience,  confessing 
to  himself  that  he  was  only  an  apprentice. 

An  appeal  to  the  wealthy  Irishmen  of  the  State, 
drawn  up  by  Gerald  and  signed  by  the  Thry- 
umvirate,  did  not  meet  with  conspicuous  success. 
There  were  few  responses.  Mr.  Patrick  Byrne,  the 
millionaire  vine-grower  of  San  Antonio  County, 
sent  a  full-page  advertisement  of  his  "  Golden  Wine" 
marked  for  one  insertion,  and  enclosed  his  check  for 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  But  this  afforded 
only  a  momentary  respite.  The  paper  bill  took 
most  of  it ;  Gerald  and  Carney  got  ten  dollars 
apiece.  Evidently  things  could  not  go  on  in  this 
way.  "  The  Irish  Eagle  "  was  falling  after  a  brief 
flight  of  some  six  months ;  it  was  slowly  starving  to 
death,  and  the  first  pound  of  dynamite  was  still  un- 
bought — the  lowest  step  of  Queen  Victoria's  throne 
was  still  unshattered. 

The  end  was  not  long  deferred.  Gerald  had  just 
finished  a  handsome  obituary  notice  of  Mr.  Phelim 
O'Gorman,  a  wealthy  and  prominent  Irish  resident 
who  had  died  the  day  before,  and  Mike  Carney  was 
engaged  in  embalming  the  virtues  of  the  deceased 
in  cold  type,  when  the  Thryumvirate  filed  slowly 
into  the  editorial  sanctum.  There  was  gloom  on 
the  brows  of  the  patriots,  and  sorrow  in  their  tones. 


30  THE  RISE   AND  FALL    OF 

Mr.  Martin  Doyle  flung  a  small  sheaf  of  advertising 
bills  on  the  table.  "  I  can't  collect  the  first  cint," 
he  said,  with  a  groan.  The  groan  was  echoed  by  his 
colleagues,  and  the  editor  looked  serious  and  sym- 
pathetic. He  felt  that  this  was  not  a  moment  to 
urge  the  question  of  his  arrears,  though  during  the 
last  few  weeks  the  sum  had  rolled  up  with  startling 
rapidity. 

"  They  wouldn't  organize,"  remarked  Mr.  Foley, 
despondently.  "  They  might  have  been  free  by 
this  time  if  they'd  only  have  organized." 

"  They've  niglected  the  clare  duty  of  the  day," 
said  Mr.  Cummiskey  ;  "  an'  this  is  what  it's  brought 
us  to." 

Mr.  Doyle  cleared  his  throat  and  rose,  but  evi- 
dently he  did  not  feel  equal  to  a  rhetorical  flight. 
He  only  said  : 

"  At  a  meetin'  of  the  stockholders  of  the  Aigle 
Publishing  Company,  duly  called  an'  convaned,  it 
has  been  decided  to  discontinue  the  publication  of 
'  The  Irish  Aigle'  for  the  prisint." 

The  announcement  did  not  take  Gerald  wholly 
by  surprise.  He  had  been  looking  for  something 
of  the  sort. 

"  And  what  about  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"This    issue   will   be   printed    an'    published    as 


"THE   IRISH  AIGLET  31 

usual,"  said  Mr.  Doyle.  "  It's  all  med  up,  anyhow, 
an'  goes  to  priss  to-night.  Afther  that,  Mr.  Ffrench, 
the  company  will  have  no  further  call  for  yer  ser- 
vices." 

"  You  owe  me,  as  I  suppose  you  are  aware,"  be- 
gan Gerald,  but  a  storm  of  indignant  protests 
drowned  his  voice.  • 

"  Bad  cess  to  the  dhirty  money  !  "  "  Is  it  yer  ar- 
rairs  ye're  thinkin'  of  whin  the  last  hope  of  Irish 
indipindance  is  shattered  in  the  dust  ?  "  "  Aren't 
we  all  losers  together  ? "  and  much  more  to  the 
same  effect.  Gerald  waited  till  silence  v/as  restored, 
and  then  attempted  to  renew  his  appeal,  but  Mr. 
Doyle  turned  on  him  with  oppressive  dignity. 

"  Ye're  an  Irishman,  Mr.  Ffrench,  I  belave  ?  " 

Gerald  admitted  his  nationality. 

"  Very  well,  thin  ;  it's  proud  an'  thankful  ye 
ought  to  be  to  make  a  thriflin'  sacrifice  for  the  land 
of  yer  burruth."  In  moments  of  excitement  or 
emotion  Mr.  Doyle's  native  Doric  took  on  a  richer 
tone.  "  We've  all  med  our  sacrifices  for  the  good 
cause.  Let  this  wan  be  yours." 

It  was  impossible  for  Gerald  to  explain  to  these 
perfervid  patriots  that  their  cause  was  not  his — that 
all  his  sympathies,  all  his  habits,  bound  him  to  the 
class  they  were  aiming  to  overthrow.  Out  of  his 


32  THE   RISE   AND   FALL    OF 

own  mouth,  or  rather  out  of  his  own  editorials, 
they  would  have  convicted  him  as  something  more 
advanced  than  a  Fenian  ;  weak,  indeed,  in  details 
of  Irish  history,  but  sound  to  the  core  on  the  great 
question  of  Irish  liberty.  As  he  sat  silent,  vainly 
seeking  some  reply  to  this  appeal  to  his  patriotism, 
the  Thryumvirate  rose  as  one  man  and  stalked  from 
the  room. 

From  the  case  outside  Mike  Carney  could  be 
heard  in  a  flood  of  song  : 

Oh,  how  she  swum  the  wathers, 

The  good  ship  Castletown, 
The  day  she  flung  our  banner  forth, 

The  Harp  without  the  Crown. 

The  old  printer  was  occasionally  patriotic  in  his 
cups.  Gerald  likened  "  The  Irish  Eagle  "  to  the 
dying  swan,  and  realized  that  the  end  was  near. 

The  following  week  was  one  of  anxious  inaction. 
Ffrench  vibrated  between  the  office  and  McKeon's 
saloon ;  Carney  confined  himself  strictly  to  the 
latter.  The  Thryumvirate  was  seldom  visible,  and 
had  it  not  been  for  a  lucky  accident,  the  editor  of 
"  The  Irish  Eagle "  would  have  left  that  paper 
penniless.  A  son  of  the  late  Mr.  Phelim  O'Gor- 
man,  pleased  with  the  prominence  given  to  his 


"THE  IRISH  AIGLEy  33 

father's  virtues,  and  ignorant  of  the  suspension  of 
the  paper,  entered  the  office  one  day  and  found 
Gerald  seated,  like  Marius,  alone  among  the  ruins. 
The  greater  part  of  the  edition  was  still  unsold  on 
the  shelves,  and  when  Mr.  O'Gorman,  Jr.,  asked 
for  a  few  copies  of  the  issue  containing  the  notice  of 
his  father's  death,  the  editor  was  prompt  to  accom- 
modate him.  How  many  would  he  have  ? 

"  How  many  can  you  spare  me  ?  " 

"  All  you  want,"  answered  Gerald,  briskly ;  and 
young  O'Gorman  purchased  two  hundred  "  Irish 
Eagles "  at  their  regular  retail  price  of  ten  cents 
apiece,  and  departed,  leaving  Gerald  with  a  glow  of 
gratitude  in  his  heart  and  a  twenty-dollar  piece  in 
his  pocket.  He  gave  the  defunct  publishing  com- 
pany credit  for  this  amount  in  his  account  for  ar- 
rears. 

So  fell  "  The  Irish  Eagle." 

Gerald  Ffrench  turned  his  back  on  Washington 
Street  and  patriotism,  and  took  himself,  his  talents, 
and  his  new  experience  to  more  sordid  and  business- 
like journals.  He  began  to  meet  with  more  success. 
He  had  learned  habits  of  thrift  and  industrious 
routine,  and  he  had  imbibed  a  hearty  hatred  for 
Irish  Nationalists  and  all  their  ways.  This  last  fact, 
however,  was  long  unsuspected  by  Foley,  Cummis- 
3 


34  THE   RISE   AND  FALL    OF 

key,  and  the  others.  Mr.  Martin  Doyle,  in  partic- 
ular, followed  the  career  of  the  dethroned  editor 
with  deep  interest,  and  considered  him  the  shining 
light  of  the  San  Francisco  press.  He  used  to  point 
out  Gerald  with  pride  as  one  who  "had  worked 
hard  and  med  his  sacrifices  for  the  cause."  He 
even  invited  the  young  man  to  attend  a  banquet  of 
the  Red  Branch  Knights  on  St.  Patrick's  day. 
This  invitation  was  declined,  Gerald  keenly  recall- 
ing that  immortal  anniversary  the  year  before,  and 
his  mortification  when  the  Thryumvirate  had  in- 
sisted on  having  "  The  Irish  Aigle "  printed  in 
green  ink  in  honor  of  the  day.  But  that  was  all 
over  now.  Mr.  Ffrench  had  resumed  his  ancestral 
role  as  a  "  Saxon  opprissor,"  though  the  scattered 
members  of  the  Thryumvirate  were  slow  to  believe 
it. 

Conviction  came  on  them  at  last,  and  with  crush- 
ing force.  A  certain  noble  earl  was  murdered  in 
Ireland  under  circumstances  of  peculiar  barbarity. 
The  victim  was  an  old  man,  but  he  was  also  a 
large  land-owner,  and  a  howl  qf  exultation  at  his 
death  and  execration  of  his  memory  went  up  from 
all  the  Irish  societies.  An  important  election  was 
at  hand,  and  the  city  papers,  willing  to  cater  to  the 
Irish  vote,  took  up  the  cry.  The  murdered  earl  was 


"THE   IRISH  AIGLE."  35 

branded  as  a  tyrant,  tales  of  harrowing  evictions 
were  invented  and  ascribed  to  him,  and  it  was 
broadly  hinted  that  he  had  received  no  more  than 
his  deserts.  This  was  more  than  Gerald  Ffrench 
could  stand.  He  had  known  the  old  gentleman 
in  former  days,  had  dined  at  his  table,  and  been 
"  tipped  "  by  him  as  a  school-boy.  He  sat  down  and 
wrote  a  letter  to  "  The  Golden  Fleece,"  a  weekly 
paper  of  wide  circulation.  He  took  the  earl's  mur- 
der for  a  text,  and  told  all  he  knew  of  the  "  wild 
justice  of  revenge"  as  executed  by  a  blunderbuss 
from  behind  a  hedge.  His  heart  guided  his  pen; 
he  rang  out  a  withering  impeachment  of  the  meth- 
ods of  his  countrymen,  and  signed  it  with  his  full 
name. 

Mr.  Martin  Doyle,  Mr.  Andrew  Cummiskey,  Mr. 
Peter  O'Rourke,  Mr.  Frank  Brady,  and  Mr.  James 
Foley  met  the  same  evening  in  the  private  snug- 
gery behind  Mr.  Matthew  McKeon's  sample-room 
on  Washington  Street.  Mr.  Doyle  had  a  paper  in 
his  hand. 

"  Have  ye  read  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

All  admitted  that  they  had. . 

Mr.  Doyle  arose.  "  Fri'nds  an'  fellow-counthry- 
min,"  he  said,  "  this  letther,  difindin'  the  mimory 
of  a  black-hearted  landlord ;  this  letther,  callin'  the 


36        XISE  AND  FALL   OF  "THE  IRISH  A1GLE." 

noblest  atthribute  of  our  common  humanity,  the  at- 
thribute  of  rivinge,  a  crime,  was  written  by  Gerald 
Ffrench  (groans).  Is  he  an  Irishman  ?  ('  No,  no.') 
I  don't  care  a  trauneen  if  he  was  born  in  West- 
meath ;  1  don't  value  it  a  kippeen  if  he  was  eddy- 
cated  in  Thrinity  College  ;  it's  nothin'  to  me  if  he 
did  idit  '  The  Irish  Aigle  '  for  filthy  lukker  ;  I  here 
and  now  do  brand  and  stiggatize  him  as  a  vile  spawn 
of  the  Saxon  opprissor.  All  in  favor  thereof  will 
signify  the  same  by  saying  '  Aye.'  Conthrary- 
minded,  '  No.'  The  ayes  have  it,  and  it  is  so  or- 
thered." 

All  recorded  their  votes  of  censure  against  Gerald, 
even  Mr.  Foley,  who  acquiesced  with  a  shake  of 
the  head,  adding,  "  But  he  had  grand  ideas  in- 
tirely  about  organization."  Mr.  Cummiskey  took 
the  suffrages  of  the  party  on  the  advisability  of 
waylaying  the  culprit  some  night  and  giving  him 
"the  bating  he  had  deserved,"  but  this  was  over- 
ruled by  Mr.  Doyle.  "  It's  no  use,  boys,"  he  said  ; 
"a  diginerate  Irishman  like  that  wud  think  nothin' 
of  app'aling  to  the  police  for  purtection.  L'ave 
him  alone.  Vingeance  will  overtake  him,  along 
wid  the  rest  of  the  accursed  Saxon  brood." 


A  DISSOLVING  VIEW  OF  CARRICK 
MEAGHER. 


A  DISSOLVING  VIEW  OF  CARRICK 
MEAGHER. 


i. 

PHILOSOPHERS  tell  us  that  life  is  a  circle,  but  it  is 
not  often  a  circle  that  rounds  and  completes  itself 
within  the  observation  of  a  single  spectator.  The 
mighty  curve  stretches  forward  and  backward,  but 
even  in  the  case  of  our  nearest  friends  it  is  but  a 
limited  zone  that  falls  under  our  notice. 

Many  a  man,  whose  taste  has  led  him  to  observe 
the  varied  figures  that  troop  across  his  path,  has 
been  struck  with  some  particular  face ;  has  watched 
it  as  it  lingered  ;  has  recalled  it  as  it  vanished,  and 
has  turned  back  to  the  big  magic-lantern  show 
amid  which  we  live  with  the  feeling  that  here  was 
an  individuality  worthy  to  be  fixed  in  less  fleeting 
colors.  But  he  cannot  fix  it.  The  romancer  may 
shape  and  pursue  through  a  world  of  selected  ad- 
ventures the  being  he  has  created  ;  but  the  observer 


40  A    DISSOLVING    VIEW   OF 

of  nature  must  be  content  with  the  brief  glimpse 
afforded  him,  as  his  specimen  is  carried  across  a  mi- 
croscopic field  of  vision.  And  yet  this  fellow- 
mortal,  of  whom  we  know  so  little,  may  be  the  hero 
of  an  epic,  but  in  our  hearing  that  epic  will  never 
be  sung.  He  may  be  the  genius  who  is  destined  to 
shake  the  world,  but  he  has  passed  beyond  our  ken 
ere  he  puts  his  hand  to  the  lever.  We  all  have  had 
peeps  at  possible  prodigies,  but  before  anything  had 
occurred  to  justify  our  expectation  the  slide  was 
withdrawn  from  the  magic-lantern  and  the  scene 
changed. 

It  was  in  San  Francisco,  many  years  ago.  Then 
Big  Bonanza  shares  went  begging  at  twelve  dollars 
apiece;  since  then  they  have  commanded  thou- 
sands ;  now  they  are  back  at  tens  again.  Poor  men 
have  become  rich,  rich  men  have  become  poor,  and 
many  who  were  the  briskest  have  stepped  aside  out 
of  the  ranks.  Fifteen  years  have  passed — and  that 
is  a  long  space  on  a  Golden  Gate  calendar — since 
Gerald  Ffrench  was  the  editor  of  the  "  Irish  Eagle," 
and  filled  many  columns  of  that  ephemeral  sheet 
with  essays  on  political  dynamite. 

One  morning  he  had  a  visitor.  There  was  a 
sharp  knock  on  the  open  door  of  the  office,  and  a 
voice  inquired  : 


CARRICK  MEAGHER.  41 

"  Is  this  the  office  of  the  *  Irish  Aigle '  ?  " 

Gerald  Ffrench  glanced  up  and  answered  in  the 
affirmative.  He  was  well  used  to  callers  in  the  edi- 
torial sanctum,  patriots  from  the  Pajaro  Valley  and 
other  outlying  districts,  who  never  visited  San 
Francisco  without  stopping  at  the  "  Aigle  "  to  ascer- 
tain if,  perchance,  that  mighty  organ  of  the  Pacific 
coast  Nationalists  had  fulfilled  its  mission,  and 
driven  into  the  sea  the  British  garrison  'in  Ireland. 
So,  with  a  cheery  tone  as  who  should  say,  "  Eng- 
land is  all  right  as  yet ;  but  wait,  we  are  not  idle," 
Gerald  bade  the  visitor  enter. 

The  latter  came  forward  briskly,  and  dropped 
into  the  other  chair.  Ffrench  saw  at  a  glance  that 
this  was  no  horny-fisted  farmer  from  Pajaro,  no  poli- 
tician from  Sacramento,  no  ditcher  from  the  tule 
lands.  He  was  an  Irishman,  of  course — his  pres- 
ence in  the  "  Eagle  "  office  proved  so  much — but  so 
far  as  Gerald  could  determine,  he  was  a  hitherto 
undescribed  specimen.  He  was  a  man  of  thirty-five 
or  thereabouts,  and  his  light-brown  hair  was  long 
and  dishevelled.  His  face  was  as  the  face  of  a  Naz- 
arite,  for  no  razor  had  ever  touched  it — a  queer, 
small-featured  face,  masked  by  a  thicket  of  whisker, 
and  lit  by  bright,  eager  blue  eyes. 

"  Are  you  the  iditor  ?  " 


42  A    DISSOLVING    VIEW   OF 

His  brogue  was  distinct  and  unmistakable,  and 
yet  he  spoke  like  an  educated  man.  Gerald  was 
puzzled.  He  simply  bowed,  and  waited. 

"  I've  been  a  journalist,  off  an'  on,  for  a  good 
many  years,"  the  stranger  went  on.  "  I'm  an  Irish- 
man by  burruth,  though  you  mightn't  think  it,  for 
I've  been  so  much  away  from  the  ould  counthry 
that  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand  has  dulled  the 
spache  of  fatherland." 

"  I  think  I  should  have  recognized  you  for  a 
fellow-countryman, "answered  Gerald, suavely,  "  and 
I'm  glad  to  meet  a  brother  journalist,  Mr. — 
Mr. — 

"  Meagher,  sir ;  me  name  is  Meagher — Carrick 
Meagher.  It  sounds  like  the  name  of  a  town,  I 
know,"  he  went  on,  apologetically ;  "  an'  so  in  wan 
sinse  it  is,  but  it's  my  name,  too." 

"  Have  you  been  long  in  San  Francisco,  Mr. 
Meagher  ?  "  inquired  Ffrench,  as  soon  as  he  had  in- 
troduced himself  to  his  new  acquaintance. 

"  Not  long,  sir,  not  long.  I  came  up  from  Callao 
last  wake  in  a  sailing  vessel.  Sartin  sarcumstances," 
he  went  on,  dropping  his  voice  to  more  confidential 
tones,  "not  wholly  unconnected  wid  a  distinguished 
Peruvian  family,  compelled  me  to  abandon  a  lukker- 
ative  position  there,  an'  once  more  to  clasp  to  my 


CARR1CK  ME  A  G  HER.  43 

bussum  that  chilling  but  familiar  phantom,  the 
wide,  wide  wurruld." 

Meagher  was  a  very  little  man,  but  so  tiny  was 
the  office  and  so  expansive  was  the  gesture  that  he 
used  to  emphasize  his  words,  that  a  whole  flock  of 
unsold  "  Eagles ''  came  fluttering  down  from  the 
shelves  where  they  roosted.  With  a  hasty  apology 
he  set  about  remedying  the  mischief  he  had  caused. 
As  soon  as  he  had  finished  he  resumed  his  seat. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Ffrench,  I've  come  to  apply  for  a 
position  on  the  staff  of  the  '  Irish  Aigle.'  " 

Gerald  checked  the  smile  that  rose  to  his  lips, 
and  answered  gravely.  He  could  not  but  notice 
that  Meagher's  garments,  though  whole  and  respect- 
able, were  worn  with  that  indescribable  touch  of 
deprecation  which  goes  with  a  single  suit.  He  had 
caught  a  touch  of  wistfulness  in  the  question,  as  the 
little  fellow  put  it,  and  he  fancied  that  the  blue 
eyes  which  peered  so  sharply  out  of  the  tangle  of 
straw-colored  hair  might  well  owe  some  of  their 
eagerness  to  hunger. — Yes,  to  hunger.  There  is 
no  city  in  our  civilization  where  that  torture  of 
the  destitute  does  not  follow  close  on  empty  pock- 
ets. Gerald  realized  that  a  few  weeks  ago  he  had 
not  been  many  meals  ahead  himself,  and  that  the 
"  Irish  Eagle  "  had  intervened  only  just  in  time. 


44  A    DISSOLVING   VIEW   OF 

But  was  that  patriotic  bird  endowed  with  power 
of  wing  to  support  a  double  burden  ?  Its  editor 
might  well  doubt  it.  He  shook  his  head,  and  ex- 
plained the  position  to  Meagher.  The  paper  had 
been  started  quite  recently  by  a  little  knot  of  pat- 
riots, and  it  was  far  from  being  a  paying  concern. 
There  was  no  staff — only  one  young  editor  and  one 
old  printer,  and  the  salaries  of  both  were  already  in 
arrears.  And  then,  by  way  of  softening  the  blow — 
for  that  it  was  a  blow  the  other's  face  clearly 
showed — Gerald  applied  the  styptic  generally  rec- 
ommended in  California  for  all  wounds  of  the  mind 
and  most  wounds  of  the  body ;  he  invited  his  new 
acquaintance  to  come  down  to  the  corner  and  have 
a  drink. 

McKeon's  bar  looked  bright  and  cheerful,  and 
McKeon's  "  free  lunch  "  was  spread  with  true  Cali- 
fornian  prodigality.  This  lunch  afforded  as  good  a 
meal  as  a  man  need  ask — soup,  joint,  vegetables, 
bread,  and  cheese  ;  but  it  was  "  free  "  only  in  the 
sense  that  all  who  paid  for  liquid  refreshments  were 
welcome.  To  the  man  without  a  "  bit "  in  his 
pocket,  it  was  only  one  degree  more  substantial 
than  a  feast  of  the  Barmecide.  He  could  look,  but 
he  could  not  touch.  Mr.  Carrick  Meagher,  how- 
ever, in  right  of  Gerald's  invitation,  quickly  showed 


CARRICK  ME  A  G HER.  45 

that,  brief  as  had  been  his  sojourn  in  San  Francisco, 
he  was  no  novice  in  the  mysteries  of  a  free  lunch. 

But  appetite  is  intermittent,  and  Meagher, 
although  by  no  means  certain  when  such  another 
opportunity  might  arise,  was  at  last  compelled  to 
desist.  As  the  pair  passed  through  the  saloon,  Mr. 
Martin  Doyle  accosted  Gerald  and  proffered  fur- 
ther hospitality,  at  the  same  time  requesting  the 
favor  of  an  introduction  to  his  "  frind." 

Doyle  was  the  president  of  the  Eagle  Publish- 
ing Company,  and  the  most  active  of  the  govern- 
ing body,  which,  though  it  consisted  of  himself 
and  four  friends,  was  generally  known  as  the 
"  Thryumvirate."  The  introduction  appeared  to  af- 
ford satisfaction  both  to  Mr.  Doyle  and  the  stran- 
ger, and  the  former's  invitation  to  "  thry  a  drop  o' 
somethin' "  was  promptly  and  cheerfully  accepted. 

Meagher,  fortified  by  a  hearty  meal  and  exhil- 
arated by  a  little  whiskey,  became  quite  talka- 
tive; but  his  talk  was  interesting  even  to  Gerald, 
while  it  seemed  to  hold  Mr.  Doyle  spellbound. 
Very  soon  that  gentleman  suggested  an  adjourn- 
ment to  the  back-room,  where,  with  a  bottle  and 
glasses  on  the  table  and  a  big  cigar  between  his  lips, 
he  listened  with  bated  breath  to  Meagher' s  accounts 
of  where  he  had  been  and  what  he  had  seen. 


46  A   DISSOLVING   VIEW  OF 

He  was  last  from  Peru,  as  he  had  told  Gerald ;  he 
had  been  employed  in  some  metallurgical  works  at 
Callao,  and  he  assured  his  hearers  that  he  was  a 
first-class  practical  assayer  and  mineralogist.  He 
did  not  touch  on  the  reason  why  he  abandoned 
the  position  further  than  to  remark,  with  his  hand 
on  his  breast,  "  A  leedy's  name  must  be  sacred ; 
ye'll  excuse  me,  gintlemen,  if  I  pass  that  by." 

Gerald  found  it  difficult  to  associate  with  the 
tender  passion  that  diminutive  figure  and  quizzical 
little  monkey  face,  but  he  was  polite  enough  to 
smother  a  laugh ;  while  Mr.  Doyle  seemed  to  appre- 
ciate the  situation,  and  to  respect  the  other  the 
more  for  his  reticence. 

"To  be  sure,  Mr.  Meagher — to  be  sure,"  said 
honest  Martin.  "  I  admire  yer  delicacy.  But  tell 
me,  where  were  ye  afore  ye  went  to  Peru  ?  " 

"  I  was  war  correspondent  for  the  Cork  *  Exam- 
iner,' an'  I  was  shut  up  in  Paris  the  whole  of  the 
siege." 

"  Do  you  tell  me,  now  ? "  asked  the  wondering 
Doyle.  At  this  time  the  great  Franco-Prussian 
struggle  was  fresh  in  people's  minds,  for  it  was^as 
long  ago  as  '74  that  the  "  Irish  Eagle"  flourished. 

"  I  was  indade,  an'  a  great  deal  of  trouble  I  had. 
No  remittances  from  my  paper  could  I  get,  an'  many 


CARRICK  MEAGHER.  47 

a  day  I  walked  the  boulevards  hungry,  wondering 
what  was  the  best  thing  I  could  do." 

"  An'  what  did  ye  do  ?  "  inquired  Doyle,  with  un- 
abated interest,  while-  Gerald  experienced  a  certain 
relief  at  learning  that  his  new  acquaintance's  penni- 
less predicament  was  nothing  new  to  him. 

"  Well,  I  enlisted  as  a  mobile — that  was  four  sous 
a  day,  an'  a  loaf  of  bread,  and  a  shake-down  in  the 
Prince  Eugene  barracks." 

Gerald  became  grave  again,  as  he  realized  that 
this  device  was  impracticable  in  San  Francisco.  At 
the  same  time,  though  Meagher  was  very  glib  with 
names,  dates,  and  facts,  the  young  editor  began  to 
suspect  that  the  little  man  was  romancing. 

"  An*  ye  were  a  soldier !  "  cried  Doyle,  admiringly. 
"  Did  ye  iver  kill  a  Proosian  ?  " 

rt  Never  saw  one  that  1  know  of  till  the  day  they 
entered  the  city.  No;  I  was  more  like  a  kind  of 
policeman." 

At  this  modest  statement  Gerald's  confidence 
rose  again.  If  the  new-comer  had  been  merely 
bragging,  it  would  have  been  so  easy  to  sacrifice 
hecatombs  of  foes. 

"  Then  I  went  a  good  deal  wid  the  Irish  colony 
— as  many  of  them  as  were  left,"  resumed  Meagher. 
"  The  name  I  bore  was  passport  enough  for  that." 


48  A    DISSOLVING    VIEW  OF 

"  An'  d'ye  mane  to  say  that  ye're  related  to 
the  great,  the  immortal  pathriot,  Thomas  Francis 
Meagher  ? "  inquired  Doyle,  in  a  tone  of  awe- 
stricken  admiration  that  made  Gerald  a  little  un- 
comfortable. A  pretty  end  it  would  be  to  his  hos- 
pitality if  his  resignation  were  to  be  desired  the  fol- 
lowing day,  to  make  room  for  this  ready-tongued 
upstart ! 

But  Carrick's  answer  reassured  him.  The  Irish- 
man might  be  a  great  boaster,  but  he  was  no  liar, 
even  when  a  lie  was  to  his  manifest  advantage. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  am — I  never  could  trace 
any  relationship,  anyhow ;  but  you  know  yourself 
that  nobody  named  Meagher  need  stand  long  knock- 
ing at  an  Irishman's  dure." 

"  In  troth  an'  he  needn't ! "  answered  Doyle,  with 
enthusiasm ;  but  he  cooled  down  as  he  perceived 
how  this  deft  and  destitute  little  stranger  had  en- 
trapped him  into  an  admission  which  it  might  be 
inconvenient  to  live  up  to  and  impossible  to  retract. 

Carrick  saw  his  advantage,  and  drove  it  home. 

"  Now,  as  I'm  temporarily  embarrassed — in  fact, 
as  I  haven't  a  cint  to  me  name,"  he  began,  and 
•Doyle  shivered  as  he  prepared  to  dodge  the  impend- 
ing loan — I've  been  thinking  I  might  be  able  to  do 
something  for  your  paper." 


CARRICK  ME  A  G  HER.  49 

Doyle  breathed  again.  This  was  a  business  pro- 
position, which  could  be  met  on  a  business  basis. 

"  Well,  I  dunno,"  he  said,  slowly  ;  "  money's  tight 
an'  pathriots  is  poor.  The  '  Aigle's '  not  to  say  on  a 
payin'  footin'.  Besides  that,  Mr.  Ffrench  here  is 
fully  aquil  to  all  the  wurruk  that  is  to  be  done — 

"  I  don't  doubt  that  at  all,"  interrupted  Carrick, 
with  a  queer  little  bow  to  Gerald,  "  an'  I  wouldn't 
presume  to  interfare  wid  him.  But  I've  been 
looking  at  the  paper.  It  wants  some  fresh  depart- 
ments. What  d'ye  say  to  a  Paris  letter,  now  ?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  answered  Doyle,  slowly.  "  It  sounds 
big  and  would  look  big " 

"  To  be  sure  it  would — '  From  our  own  Paris 
correspondent ; '  an'  it  would  trate  of  Irish  affairs  in 
the  French  capital.  Paris  is  full  of  pathriots." 

"  Sure  I  know  that,"  replied  Doyle,  feebly ;  "  but 
I  know  no  wan  in  Paris,  an' " 

"  Ach,  if  that's  all,"  interrupted  Carrick,  with  an 
indescribable  snort  of  triumph,  "  I'll  write  you  a 
Paris  letter  ivery  wake  in  your  own  office.  What's 
wanted  for  a  letter  ?  That  ye  know  the  city  you're 
writin'  from  an'  the  people  in  it.  Well,  I  know  that 
— at  laste  the  Irish  colony,  an'  that's  all  you  have  to 
care  about.  Then  with  the  French  papers  to  kape 
me  up  to  the  time — an'  those  I  can  get  here — I'll 


50  A    DISSOLVING    VIEW   OF 

turn  ye  out  such  a  letter  as  any  wan  of  your  readers 
would  swear  came  straight  from  the  Boulevard  des 
Italiens,  av  they'd  ever  happened  to  hear  of  such  a 
place." 

Martin  Doyle  wavered  visibly.  "  An'  how  much 
would  ye  charge  for  the  like  ?  "  he  asked,  at  last. 

Carrick  Meagher's  sharp  blue  eyes  shot  a  quick 
glance  through  their  hairy  foliage.  He  was  evi- 
dently settling  in  his  own  mind  the  maximum 
figure  which  the  other  might  be  expected  to  stand. 
Nevertheless,  the  pause  was  scarcely  noticeable,  and 
the  answer  came  unhesitatingly  :  "  Three  dollars  a 
letter." 

"  It's  a  go,"  answered  Martin,  knitting  his  brows 
ever  so  little.  "  Now  let's  have  wan  more  drink  to 
wet  the  bargain,  an'  then  get  to  wurruk." 

Carrick  Meagher  had  gauged  his  man's  financial 
stature  almost  to  an  inch.  If  he  had  asked  for  five 
dollars,  the  negotiation  would  have  ended  then  and 
there.  Martin  Doyle  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
pay  two  dollars  and  a  half  per  letter,  but  he  had 
accepted  the  proposition,  not  considering  fifty  cents 
worth  haggling  over. 

So  Carrick  Meagher  joined  Gerald  Ffrench  on 
the  staff  of  the  «  Irish  Eagle." 


CARR2CK  MEAGHER.  5 1 

II. 

FOR  a  few  weeks  the  Paris  letters  appeared  regu- 
larly. They  were  remarkably  clever,  and,  notwith- 
standing the  circumstances  under  which  they  were 
written,  had  an  air  of  reality  which  might  have  im- 
posed on  readers  far  more  critical  than  any  for  whom 
they  were  intended.  By  degrees,  however,  the  cor- 
respondence grew  intermittent,  and  finally  ceased 
altogether.  Modest  as  was  the  price  agreed  upon, 
it  was  not  always  paid.  Indeed,  any  one  of  the 
"  Thryumvirate"  would  much  prefer  to  spend  two 
dollars  over  McKeon's  bar  in  treating  a  creditor  than 
one  dollar  in  paying  him. 

Carrick  Meagher,  who  was  really  a  brilliant  man, 
soon  fell  into  the  ways  of  the  new  city,  and,  with- 
out attaching  himself  to  the  staff  of  any  particular 
newspaper,  was  able  to  earn  a  good  income  by  con- 
tributing special  articles  to  the  various  Sunday  edi- 
tions. He  had  an  easy,  graphic  style — not  particu- 
larly polished,  but  always  readable — and  he  was  an 
expert  on  various  subjects.  At  one  period  of  his 
wandering  life  he  had  followed  the  sea,  and  he  could 
write  with  knowledge  on  ships  and  sailors.  He  was 
a  good  practical  metallurgist,  and  in  California  that 
is  a  trade  which  always  commands  its  price.  But 


52  A    DISSOLVING    VIEW   OF 

Carrick  refused  many  tempting  offers  to  resume  his 
old  profession,  and  contented  himself  with  writing 
about  it.  His  was  a  vagrant  genius,  and  the  inde- 
pendent Bohemianism  of  the  life  he  led  suited  him 
perfectly. 

Gerald  and  Meagher  remained  fast  friends  through 
it  all.  Even  after  the  latter  had  left  the  "  Eagle,"  he 
was  always  ready  to  assist  its  editor  with  his  advice, 
or  even  with  his  pen  when  work  pressed,  and  this  at 
a  time  when  the  briefest  article  he  wrote  commanded 
fifteen  or  twenty  dollars.  In  his  moments  of  des- 
pondency he  liked  to  entice  Gerald  away  to  some 
congenial  haunt,  and  there  discourse  of  his  broken 
heart  and  the  beautiful  dark-eyed  sefiorita  who  pined 
for  him  in  Lima. 

"  Pobre  cita,"  he  would  sigh,  with  a  languishing 
roll  of  his  funny  little  head.  "  The  love  that  is  sun- 
dered by  seas  an'  years  hath  nothing  to  live  on  but 
thoughts  an'  tears." 

Meagher  was  fond  of  interlarding  his  speech  with 
scraps  of  verse,  few  of  which  Gerald  could  identify, 
while  most  of  them  were  wholly  unknown  to  him ; 
so  that  he  sometimes  doubted  whether  to  class  these 
adornments  of  his  friend's  conversation  as  quotations 
or  improvisations. 

The  true  story  of  Carrick's  ill-fated  love  may  as 


CARRICK  ME  A  G  HER.  53 

well  be  set  down  here,  though  Ffrench  did  not  learn 
it  till  long  afterward— not  till  H.  M.  S.  Tenedos 
cast  anchor  in  San  Francisco  Bay,  and  Ffrench  made 
the  acquaintance  of  a  certain  lieutenant  who  had 
known  Meagher  in  Callao.  The  Irishman  had  seen 
the  beautiful  daughter  of  a  high  Peruvian  official,  as 
she  drove  past  him  in  her  carriage  on  the  Paseo  de 
los  Descalzos.  His  combustible  heart  had  taken 
fire  at  once,  and  happening  to  meet  her  a  few  days 
afterward  near  his  place  of  business  in  Callao,  he  as- 
sumed that  the  lady  returned  his  affection,  and  had 
merely  sought  the  port  for  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
him.  In  this  conviction  he  had  gone  straight  to 
Lima,  called  upon  her  father,  and  requested  his 
daughter's  hand.  The  old  gentleman  did  not  look 
with  favor  on  the  suit,  and  when  he  had  consulted 
the  young  girl,  and  ascertained  that  she  had  never 
heard  of  her  presumptuous  wooer,  he  secured  Mea- 
gher's  dismissal  from  the  government  smelting- 
works  in  which  the  young  man  was  employed,  and 
gave  him  to  understand  that  his  future  prospects  in 
Peru  were  by  no  means  rosy.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, Carrick  found  it  advisable  to  depart,  and  he 
sailed  for  San  Francisco  without  a  single  word  or  a 
second  glance  from  the  lady  for  whose  sake  he  had 
borne  so  much.  But  he  always  kept  her  memory 


54  A    DISSOLVING    VIEW   OF 

green,  and  spoke  of  her — but  never  by  name — with 
profound  emotion. 

Gerald,  knowing  nothing  of  all  this,  sympathized 
with  his  friend  as  one  crossed  in  love  and  despoti- 
cally separated  from  all  he  held  dear ;  while  Car- 
rick,  his  eyes  suffused  with  tears  or  blazing  with  ex- 
citement, according  to  the  mood  that  happened  to 
be  uppermost,  would  bewail  his  evil  fortune  or 
drown  his  sorrows  in  whiskey,  and  sing  almost  in 
the  same  breath  "  The  Girl  I  left  Behind  Me,"  or  a 
French  drinking-song  in  praise  of  "  la  dive  bouteille" 

The  little  fellow  was  as  honest  as  the  day,  pro- 
fusely generous,  and  endowed  with  a  mind  originally 
brilliant,  and  now  stored,  by  reading  and  travel, 
with  scraps  of  all  sorts  of  unexpected  and  fascina- 
ting information.  These  are  the  equipments  of  a 
very  agreeable  companion,  and  such  Ffrench  found 
him ;  but  Meagher  had  his  drawbacks.  He  was 
absurdly  theatrical  in  speech  and  manner,  and  this 
effect  was  enhanced  rather  than  lessened  by  his  di- 
minutive stature — he  was  only  just  over  five  feet— 
and  by  the  quizzical  way  his  little  face  peeped  out 
from  his  jungle  of  whisker,  which  nothing  would 
persuade  him  either  to  trim  or  shave. 

But  such  peculiarities  were  of  small  moment. 
Gerald  soon  ceased  to  notice  them,  and  the  two 


CARRICK  ME  A  G  HER.  55 

spent  most  of  their  evenings  in  company.  Carrick's 
stories  of  travel  and  adventure,  surprising  as  most 
of  them  were,  established  their  truthfulness  by  vari- 
ous minute  details  which  no  repetition  could  vary. 
He  had  endured  many  buffets  from  fortune.  Once 
he  had  been  rich— he  had  located  a  gold  mine  in 
Mexico ;  every  possible  test  had  borne  witness  to 
its  value,  and  he  had  almost  concluded  the  sale  of  a 
half  interest  for  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  But 
on  returning  to  his  location,  accompanied  by  the 
experts  whose  report  was  to  be  final,  he  could  not 
find  the  mine.  The  whole  face  of  the  country  had 
changed.  Carrick's  claim  had  vanished,  and  the  for- 
tune he  had  so  confidently  reckoned  upon  lay  buried 
beneath  hundreds  of  feet  of  miry,  pasty  water.  A 
mud  volcano  had  come  between  Carrick  and  com- 
petence. 

On  another  occasion  he  had  been  enlarging  on 
the  advantages  of  quick  and  straight  shooting. 
"  Niver  pull  a  pistol  unless  you  mane  to  shoot,"  he 
said,  "an'  niver  shoot  unless  you  mane  to  kill." 
This  maxim  he  illustrated,  as  was  his  custom,  by 
sundry  leaves  culled  from  the  book  of  his  experience. 
Gerald  ventured  to  doubt  one  specially  "  tall  "  feat 
of  marksmanship. 

"  If    I    had    me    own    gun,"    answered     Carrick. 


56  A    DISSOLVING   VIEW   OF 

"  But  sure  I  may  as  well  have  it  as  not.  I  can  afford 
it  now.  Come  along  wid  me." 

He  led  his  friend  to  an  adjacent  pawnshop,  and 
there  regained  possession  of  a  revolver  which  he  had 
been  compelled  to  pledge  in  the  early  days  of  his 
destitution.  Ffrench  witnessed  half  an  hour's  prac- 
tice in  a  Kearney  Street  shooting-gallery,  and  ac- 
knowledged that  Carrick  had  not  exaggerated  his 
skill  with  the  weapon. 

The  Irishman  was  fond  of  the  theatre,  and  was 
positively  greedy  of  Shakespearean  performances. 
He  was  always  in  his  place  before  the  curtain  rose, 
and  would  sit  through  the  five  acts,  motionless, 
silent,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  stage.  He  was  very 
critical  of  the  acting  in  his  favorite  masterpieces.  A 
popular  tragedian  arrived  from  the  Eastern  States, 
and  gave,  in  the  course  of  his  repertory,  two  nights 
of  Othello,  supported  by  a  local  company.  Carrick 
was  present,  of  course.  Mr.  Kemble  Scott  played 
lago  the  first  evening,  and  Othello  the  second.  It 
so  happened  that  after  the  latter  performance  Gerald 
and  Carrick  Meagher,  in  search  of  refreshment  on 
their  way  home,  wandered  into  the  hotel  which  Mr. 
Kemble  Scott  patronized,  and  there  found  him. 

The  actor  had  met  Ffrench  in  New  York  during 
the  latter's  brief  and  bright  days  of  splendor.  He 


CARRICK  MEAGHER.  57 

remembered  the  young  fellow,  and  greeted  him 
warmly.  Gerald  took  occasion  to  present  his  friend, 
Mr.  Meagher,  and  the  great  man  acknowledged  the 
introduction  with  a  patronizing  nod ;  but  Carrick 
had  small  sense  of  reverence,  and  absolutely  no 
discretion.  He  had  formed  a  decided  opinion  as  to 
the  merits  of  the  two  performances  he  had  seen, 
and  was  as  ready  to  discuss  them  with  the  person 
most  concerned  as  he  would  have  been  to  argue 
with  Herr  Wagner  on  the  future  of  music,  or  to  set 
right  Professor  Agassiz  on  a  question  of  zoology. 
With  his  wonted  volubility  Carrick  began  : 

"  I'm  glad  to  mate  ye,  Mr.  Scott.  I  saw  your 
two  impersonations  this  wake."" 

"  Indeed  ?  "  answered  the  actor,  with  the  stereo- 
typed smile  which  he  reserved  for  the  compliments 
to  which  he  was  well  accustomed.  "  I  trust  you  do 
not  consider  your  time  thrown  away  ?  " 

"  Not  complately,"  was  Carrick's  unexpected 
reply.  "  There  were  plenty  of  good  pints  in  your 
representation  of  lago  ;  but  your  conciption  of  the 
character  of  the  dusky  Moor  was  altogither  erron-* 
eous." 

Mr.  Kemble  Scott  was  completely  taken  aback. 

"  Indeed  !  "  he  stammered,  at  last.  "  I  trust,  Mr.— 
Mr. — I  beg  your  pardon,  but  your  name  escaped  me." 


58  A    DISSOLVING    VIEW   OF 

11  There's  me  card,  sir,"  responded  Carrick,  hand- 
ing the  other  the  bit  of  pasteboard.  "  I  know  how 
hard  it  is  to  catch  a  name  as  yet  untrumpeted  of 
noisy  fame,  but  for  all  that  there's  mine,  and  it's  one 
I've  no  call  to  be  ashamed  of." 

By  this  time  the  tragedian  had  mastered — as  he 
imagined — the  script  on  the  card. 

"Well,  Mr.  Meagre" — he  began  ;  but  a  bellow  of 
indignant  expostulation  from  Carrick  cut  him 
short : 

"  You  needn't  thry  to  make  fun  of  me  nor  of  an 
honored  name,  becase  I  ventured  to  indulge  in  a 
bit  of  just  criticism,  which,  av  I'd  known  ye  were  so 
sinsitive,  I'd  have  kept  to  meself." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  interposed  Mr.  Kemble 
Scott,  still  polite,  though  by  this  time  he  was  not 
certain  he  had  not  to  do  with  a  madman.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon" — he  scrutinized  the  card  again — 
"but  if  you  can  pronounce  M-e-a-g-h-e-r  any  way 
except  Meagre " 

"  Ye  can  pronounce  it  Mar,  sir — same  as  if  it 
'rhymed  wid  'star,'  which  you're  fond  of  calling 
yourself.  Mar-r-r-r,  av  ye  plaze,  wid  th'  accint  on 
the  r,  an'  good-evenin'  to  you." 

With  this  Carrick  stalked  wrathfully  from  the 
room  muttering  as  he  went,  "  I'm  wrong  to  be 


CARRICK  MEAGHER.  59 

vexed  at  the  poor  fellow,  for  av  he  can't  read  an' 
can't  act  it's  a  bad  lookout  for  him  in  his  ould 
age." 

Gerald  lingered  to  offer  the  perplexed  tragedian 
such  explanations  as  were  possible,  and  this  ended 
the  incident.  Meagher,  however,  absented  himself 
from  the  theatre  during  the  remainder  of  Mr.  Kem- 
ble  Scott's  engagement.  Not  even  to  see  his  favor- 
ite "  Hamlet  "  would  he  condone  the  insult  offered 
to  his  honored  name. 

Shortly  after  this  occurrence — the  most  lasting  ef- 
fect of  which  was  to  inspire  in  Carrick  a  settled  dis- 
taste to  American  actors— the  "  Irish  Eagle  "  folded 
its  wings,  and  died  without  a  struggle.  Meagher's 
advice  and  assistance  now  became  invaluable  to 
Gerald,  and  it  was  mainly  owing  to  his  friend  that 
the  young  editor  quickly  secured  humbler  but  more 
remunerative  employment  on  the  city  press. 

III. 

FOR  two  years  this  oddly  assorted  friendship  had 
subsisted,  unbroken  by  even  the  most  passing  cool- 
ness, when  a  series  of  events  led  to  a  separation 
which  Ffrench  has  almost  ceased  to  hope  will  not 
prove  permanent. 


60  A    DISSOLVING    VIEW  OF 

Gerald  was  attached  to  a  stock  and-  mining  jour- 
nal, and  he  frequently  had  occasion  to  lay  under 
contribution  his  friend's  expert  knowledge  of  the 
subjects  of  which  it  treated.  He  was  accordingly 
always  well  pleased  to  see  Carrick  enter  the  office. 

Looking  in  one  forenoon,  as  he  often  did,  Mea- 
gher  found  Gerald  seated,  pen  in  hand,  surrounded 
by  specimens  from  an  Arizona  mine,  which  it  was 
his  immediate  duty  to  panegyrize,  or,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  street,  to  "  boom." 

The  little  man  dropped  into  a  seat,  and  heaved  a 
deep  sigh. 

"  I  dramed  of  my  pobre  cita  last  night,"  began 
Carrick.  "  Ah,  love  for  a  year,  a  wake,  a  day,  but 
alas  for  the  love  that  loves  alway." 

"  Bother  your  pobre  cita !  "  exclaimed  Ffrench, 
impatiently.  In  these  moods,  as  he  knew  from  ex- 
perience, Carrick  could  seldom  be  reckoned  on  for 
counsel  or  assistance. 

"  Ah,  ye're  young,"  said  Meagher,  not  in  the  least 
offended  ;  for  he  had  at  the  service  of  his  friends  a 
temper  which  nothing  could  ruffle. 

Gerald  silently  wrote  on. 

"  What  are  ye  doin'  ?  Erectin'  a  column  ?  "  in- 
quired Carrick  presently,  when  the  stillness  had 
lasted  as  long  as  his  voluble  nature  could  endure. 


CARRICK  MEAGHER.  6 1 

"  Trying  to,"  replied  Gerald,  briefly.  "  I've 
a  notice  of  this  mine  to  write  up  for  to-morrow's 
paper." 

"  This  mine  !  "  echoed  Meagher,  who  had  amused 
himself  looking  over  the  specimens  at  Gerald's  el- 
bow. "  These  half-dozen  mines,  you  should  say." 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't,  smarty !  "  retorted  Ffrench, 
who  had  been  put  out  by  the  other's  unseasonable 
love  reminiscences.  "  These  are  all  from  one  mine." 

"Well,  they're  not;  you  can't  fool  me !"  cried 
Carrick,  with  an  awakening  of  professional  interest. 
"  Wan,  two,  three,  four — these  specimens  are  faked. 
They  never  came  from  wan  mine,  nor  from  ten 
miles  from  wan  another.  It's  a  salted  claim  they're 
playin'  on  you,  my  poor  Gerald." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  exclaimed  Ffrench,  dropping 
his  pen. 

"  Am  I  sure  ? "  repeated  Carrick,  disdainfully. 
"  Do  I  know  quartz  from  bitter  spar,  an'  aither  of 
them  from  metallic  sulphides  ?  What's  that  ?  Iron 
pyrites.  An'  what's  that  ?  Quartzose  gangues.  An' 
will  you  dar'  to  tell  me  they  all  came  out  of  the 
wan  mine  ?  Go'  long  wid  ye  !  " 

"  This  is  serious,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  know  Ver- 
planck  fancies  this  mine  very  much,  and  is  going  to 
put  money  in  it.  Suppose  we  send  for  him." 


it 


62  A    DISSOLVING    VIEW   OF 

The  office  boy  was  despatched  to  summon  the 
proprietor  of  the  paper  ;  and  to  him,  in  more  tem- 
perate language,  Carrick  repeated  the  conclusion  he 
had  arrived  at  from  his  inspection  of  the  specimens. 

Mr.  Verplanck  knew  his  informant  well,  and  had 
often  profited  by  his  trained  experience  in  matters 
of  mineralogy.  The  result  of  half  an  hour's  conver- 
sation was  an  order  to  Gerald  to  tear  up  the  article 
he  had  commenced,  and  begin  another,  denouncing 
the  Ida  mine  as  one  of  the  biggest  frauds  that  had 
ever  been  attempted  on  California  Street. 

Mr.  Verplanck's  virtuous  indignation  was  whetted 
by  the  fact  that  he  had  himself  narrowly  escaped 
becoming  a  victim,  and  he  instructed  Ffrench  not 
to  spare  his  superlatives.  Before  the  hour  of  next 
day's  "  Board  "  Ida's  character  was  ruined. 

But  no  man  can  put  a  stop  to  a  nefarious  scheme 
whereby  others  expect  to  profit  without  making  an 
enemy  of  someone.  The  identity  of  the  expert 
whose  timely  opinion  had  dealt  a  death-blow  to 
this  promising  swindle  was  an  open  secret.  Mea- 
gher  received  profuse  thanks  and  other  more  sub- 
stantial expressions  of  gratitude  from  those  whose 
money  he  had  saved  ;  but  in  certain  quarters  "  curses 
not  loud,  but  deep  "  were  breathed  on  the  "  meddle- 
some little  Irishman."  Unfortunately,  among  those 


CARR2CK  ME  A  G  HER.  63 

whose  game  he  had  spoiled  were  some  who  were 
accustomed  to  carry  their  irritation  beyond  the 
blasphemy  point — men  whose  path  it  was  danger- 
ous to  cross,  and  who  were  not  wont  to  stick  at 
trifles  in  pursuit  either  of  profit  or  of  vengeance. 

A  few  nights  after  the  exposure  of  the  "  Ida 
swindle,"  as  it  was  called,  Gerald  and  Carrick  at- 
tended a  performance  at  the  California  Theatre. 
They  had  supper  afterward  at  the  Poodle  Dog,  and 
it  was  long  past  midnight  when  they  turned  into 
Mission  Street,  on  their  way  home ;  for  the  two  in- 
separables roomed  together.  Mission  Street  is  a 
lonesome  neighborhood  after  ten  or  eleven  at  night, 
and  for  block  after  block  the  friends  had  the  side- 
walk to  themselves. 

Suddenly,  as  they  passed  the  corner  of  Fifth 
Street,  three  men  sprang  out  of  a  dark  doorway. 
Their  feet  echoed  on  the  deserted  pavement,  and 
Gerald  turned  just  in  time  to  see  a  murderous  blud- 
geon above  his  head.  Instinctively  he  raised  his 
arm,  and  caught  the  blow  as  it  descended.  The 
limb  dropped  to  his  side,  numb  and  useless,  and  a 
feeling  of  faintness  crept  over  him.  The  loaded 
stick  was  poised  for  a  second  blow.  Gerald  could 
only  close  his  eyes  and  wait  for  it.  He  could  not 
stir  from  the  spot ;  he  could  not  even  look  to  see 


64  A   DISSOLVING    VIEW  OF 

how  it  fared  with  his  companion.  There  was  no 
time  to  collect  his  thoughts  or  rally  his  energies. 
Not  three  seconds  had  elapsed  since  he  was  walking 
gayly  homeward,  and  now  he  stood,  maimed  and 
helpless,  expecting  nothing  but  death. 

One,  two — sharp  and  clear  rang  out  the  twin 
reports  of  a  revolver.  Ffrench  opened  his  eyes. 
The  blow  had  not  fallen,  and  the  assassin  lay 
writhing  at  his  feet,  clutching  the  heavy  "knuckle 
duster"  in  his  convulsive  grasp.  In  that  moment 
the  young  journalist  had  tasted  the  bitterness  of 
death. 

Carrick  Meagher  stepped  across  a  second  form, 
prostrate  like  the  other,  but  motionless,  and  covered 
with  his  pistol  a  shadowy  figure,  still  visible  a 
dozen  paces  off,  but  fast  vanishing  in  the  darkness. 
Gerald  found  his  tongue. 

"  Shoot,  shoot !  "  he  cried,  in  a  trembling  voice. 
"  He'll  be  out  of  sight !  " 

Carrick  appeared  to  deliberate  a  moment,  and 
then  returned  the  revolver  to  his  overcoat  pocket. 

"  An'  let  him  go,"  he  said,  unconcernedly.  "  Niver 
shoot  a  man  unless  you've  got  to — that's  always  a 
good  rule.  Let's  look  at  these  fellows,  an'  see  what's 
the  matter  wid  'em." 

Matter    enough.      One   lay   stone    dead  —  shot 


CA  RRICK  .  ME  A  CHER.  6  5 

through  the  heart ;  and  the  other,  even  while  they 
tried  to  raise  him,  breathed  his  last. 

As  they  laid  the  body  down,  Carrick  noticed  that 
Gerald  did  not  use  his  left  arm. 

"  What's  wrong  wid  ye  ?  Did  he  get  in  a  lick  at 
ye?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  stopped  the  first  blow  with  my  arm," 
answered  Gerald. 

"  An'  a  good  job  ye  did,"  replied  Carrick.  "  I 
dodged  the  welt  that  fellow  med  at  me,  an'  then  I 
pulled  iron.  Draw  quick,  shoot  straight — them 
two  mottoes,  along  wid  a  gun  you  can  depind  on, 
will  carry  a  man  across  the  wurruld." 

Gerald's  reply,  begun  in  a  spirit  of  incoherent 
gratitude,  was  cut  short  by  the  sounds  of  footsteps 
rapidly  approaching.  A  policeman,  attracted  by 
the  pistol-shots,  came  up  at  a  run.  No  doubt  it 
was  the  fear  of  some  such  interruption  that  had 
impelled  the  assailants  to  choose,  instead  of  firearms, 
the  more  silent  and  no  less  deadly  bludgeon. 

"  Here,  what's  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  "  inquired 
the  officer,  as  he  halted. 

"  It    manes,"    answered     Carrick,  calmly,    "  that 
some  of  the  smarties  who  tried  to  put  up  a  job  on 
the  Ida  have  been  trying  to  put  up  a  job  on  my 
frind  an'  me,  but  I  got  the  drop  on  them." 
5 


66  A    DISSOLVING    VIEW   OF 

Subsequent  investigation  proved  that  Meagher 
had  correctly  divined  the  motive  of  the  attempt  on 
his  life  at  the  very  instant  of  its  failure. 

Other  officers  were  summoned,  and  the  dead 
bodies  were  carried  away.  The  policeman  who  first 
appeared  arrested  Gerald  and  Carrick,  and  the  party 
retraced  its  steps  to  the  City  Hall. 

Meagher  was  uneasy  and  inclined  to  be  restive 
under  restraint. 

"  It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  talk,"  he  said,  in  an- 
swer to  a  reassuring  remark  of  Gerald,  "  but  1  don't 
like  it.  I  spent  a  whole  wake  in  the  lock-up  at 
Valparaiso  by  rason  of  a  scrape  that  I  had  no  more 
to  do  wid  than  Noah's  grandfather;  an'  I  tell  ye  I 
don't  like  it." 

But  their  detention  was  brief.  As  newspaper 
men,  both  were  well  known  at  headquarters,  and, 
late  as  was  the  hour,  Mr.  Verplanck  and  several 
substantial  citizens  soon  appeared  in  response  to  an 
urgent  message.  Bail  was  quickly  arranged,  and 
the  friends  found  themselves  at  liberty. 

"What  shall  we  do  now  ?"  inquired  Gerald,  as 
they  quitted  the  gloomy  building  on  Kearney  Street. 

"  Go  home  an'  go  to  bed.  What  else  ? "  was 
Meagher's  matter-of-fact  reply.  "  Sure  it's  after 
three  o'clock." 


CARRICK  MEAGHER.  6/ 

Gerald  expressed  his  willingness  to  retire,  but 
positively  refused  to  repeat  the  lonely  tramp  up 
Mission  Street.  He  wished  to  go  to  a  hotel,  but 
it  was  difficult  to  make  Carrick  understand  his  rea- 
sons. 

"  Is  it  the  other  chap  you're  afraid  of  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  I'll  bet  you  a  dollar  he's  running  yet.  Av  he'd 
been  any  less  scared,  I'd  have  shot  him  too." 

"  No,  it  isn't  the  other  chap  I'm  afraid  of,  but 
have  you  no  nerves,  man  ?  Do  you  feel  like  pass- 
ing the  place  where  those  fellows  were  shot  down 
not  two  hours  ago?" 

"  Sure  they're  gone,"  answered  Carrick.  "  Didn't 
you  see  them  taken  out  o'  that  before  we  left 
it?" 

At  last  Gerald  carried  his  point,  and  Meagher, 
grumbling  at  what  he  called  "  a  sinseless  bit  of  ex- 
travagance," secured  accommodations  at  the  Occi- 
dental. 

The  inquest  completely  exonerated  the  two  jour- 
nalists, and  its  revelations  made  a  three  days'  hero 
of  Carrick  Meagher,  who,  however,  bore  his  honors 
uneasily.  As  soon  as  the  verdict  of  "justifiable 
homicide  "  had  been  rendered,  he  was  at  pains  to  as- 
certain that  his  bailers  had  been  discharged  from 
their  bond.  Then  he  went  straight  to  the  Pacific 


68  A    DISSOLVING    VIEW   OF 

Mail  Company's  offices  and  purchased  a  ticket  for 
Hong  Kong. 

"  What  do  you  want  that  for  ?  "  inquired  the  be- 
wildered Gerald,  when  Meagher  displayed  his  pur- 
chase. 

"  I  want  it  to  go  to  China  wid,  an'  that's  where 
I'm  going  on  the  very  first  steamer,  an'  that's  the 
day  after  to-morrow." 

"  What  for  ?  "  gasped  Ffrench. 

"Well,  several  rasons.  I've  been  longer  in 
'Frisco  than  I've  any  business  to  stay  in  any  wan 
town;  then  I've  been  over  a  good  share  of  the 
wurruld,  an'  niver  yet  seen  a  Jap  or  a  Chinaman  on 
his  native  heath  ;  an'  there's  another  rason." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  inquired  Gerald. 

"  Well — niver  mind  what  it  is,"  answered  Carrick. 
"  Isn't  it  enough  that  I'm  blue-moulded  for  want  of 
a  bit  of  change  ?  Let  that  content  you." 

"  But  it  does  not  content  me,"  urged  his  friend. 
"  You  are  doing  well  here ;  you're  happy  and  com- 
fortable  " 

"Ah,"  sighed  Meagher,  "it's  little  ye  know. 
Pobre  cita  !  " 

"Well,"  pursued  Ffrench,  "she'll  worry  you  just  as 
much  in  China  as  she  does  here,  and  you  won't  have 
me  to  talk  to.  Come,  take  back  your  ticket — you 


CAR1UCK  MEAGHER.  69 

can  get  rid  of  it,  Pm  sure — and  stay  where  you  are. 
You  had  no  notion  of  this  sudden  flitting  a  week 
ago." 

"Well,  I  hadn't,"  admitted  Carrick,  with  a  burst 
of  candor.  "  It's  this  way,  Gerald.  There's  only 
wan  thing  in  the  wurruld  I'm  afraid  of.  If  they 
locked  me  up,  I'd  die  or  go  out  of  my  head.  I 
couldn't  stand  it." 

"  But  why  should  they  lock  you  up  ?  You  have 
committed  no  crime,  and  a  jury  has  exonerated 
you." 

"  I  haven't  much  confidence  in  a  jury,"  answered 
Meagher.  "  I  saw  too  much  of  them  in  Ireland 
when  I  was  a  boy.  What  odds  what  wan  jury 
says  ?  Did  you  niver  hear  of  a  flaw  in  an  indict- 
ment, an'  isn't  it  full  as  aisy  to  find  flaws  in  an  ac- 
quittal ?  No,  I'll  skip  out  to  China  while  I'm  free, 
an'  while  it  won't  cost  Verplanck  nor  anyone  else  a 
cint,  as  it  would  av  I  had  to  be  bailed  again." 

Gerald  lost  patience. 

"  Can't  you  understand  ?  The  law  says" — he  be- 
gan, but  Meagher  interrupted  him  : 

"What  odds  what  the  law  says?  It's  always 
sayin'  wan  thing  an'  manin'  another.  I've  no  use 
for  law ;  I  niver  had,  an'  I  hate  the  sight  of  it.  I 
can't  help  it ;  I  was  born  so.  I'd  like  a  country 


70  A    DISSOLVING    VIEW   OF 

where  ivery  man's  hands  had  to  keep  his  own  head, 
an'  where  there  were  wild  bastes  an'  divils  instead 
of  lawyers.  Day  after  to-morrow  I'll  sail  for  China, 
an'  av  ye'll  come  down  an'  see  me  off  I'll  take  it 
kindly  of  you,  Gerald.'' 

And  on  the  day  appointed  he  did  sail.  Gerald, 
with  many  another  friend,  was  on  the  wharf  when 
the  big  steamer  moved  out,  for  the  little  Irishman 
had  become  both  popular  and  famous. 

Ffrench's  eyes  grew  misty  as  he  watched  the 
small  familiar  figure,  till  distance  rendered  it  indis- 
tinguishable. Then  he  turned  slowly  away,  won- 
dering if  they  two  would  ever  meet  again.  He  put 
no  faith  in  Carrick's  promises  to  write,  for  he  ob- 
served that  the  wanderer  appeared  to  have  left  no 
correspondents  behind  him  in  the  various  lands  he 
had  visited.  Ffrench's  misgivings  were  justified. 
Many  a  mail  came  from  the  distant  East,  but  never 
a  line  in  the  odd,  sprawling  handwriting  which 
Carrick  Meagher  affected. 

Gerald  has  paid  more  than  one  visit  to  his  Irish 
home  since  those  "  Bonanza  Days  of  the  Seven- 
ties ; "  he  has  made  frequent  sojourns  in  the  Eastern 
States ;  but  he  has  never  met  his  quaint  and 
brilliant  friend.  He  thinks  of  Carrick  Meagher  now 
as  of  a  dissolving  view  of  a  very  strange  humanity  ; 


CARRICK  MEAGHER.  *J I 

coming  out  of  the  unexplored  darkness,  shining  for 
a  brief  space  with  a  fascinating  lustre,  and  fading 
away  again  into  unknowable  obscurity.  The  circle 
of  their  two  lives  touched  only  at  a  single  point. 

Still  Gerald  cherishes  the  hope  that  he  may  see 
or  hear  of  him  again.  No  strange  and  mysterious 
individuality  can  arise  to  defy  speculation  without 
bringing  up  in  Ffrench's  mind  thoughts  of  the 
vagrant  genius  who  ate  and  lived  with  him  for  two 
years  in  San  Francisco.  When  the  young  jour- 
nalist read  of  the  White  Pasha,  who  had  so  won- 
drously  appeared  in  the  heart  of  Africa,  he  was 
seized  with  a  wild  idea  that  this  might  be  his  old 
friend.  For  Gerald  Ffrench  is  well  convinced  that 
this  was  no  ordinary  man,  and  that  no  common- 
place fate  awaits  him.  Some  day  or  another,  in 
some  strange  and  distant  country,  in  some  startling, 
unexpected  way,  Gerald  looks  to  see  written  across 
the  history  of  his  time  the  eccentric  signature  of 
Carrick  Meagher. 


AT  THE  TOWN  OF  THE  QUEEN 
OF  THE  ANGELS. 


AT  THE  TOWN  OF  THE  QUEEN 
OF  THE  ANGELS. 


THE  party  of  sight-seers  was  more  than  an  hour 
late  for  dinner,  but  that  made  no  difference  to  mine 
host  of  the  Pico  House,  who  received  it  with  smiles 
and  would  listen  to  no  apologies.  The  visitors  se- 
cretly exchanged  congratulations,  for  their  appetites 
had  lost  nothing  by  the  delay  and  they  had  the 
dining-room  to  themselves.  Mine  host  presided  in 
person,  since  these  were  guests  that  he  delighted  to 
honor — representatives  of  all  the  leading  papers  of 
the  Pacific  Slope,  each  a  living  pen  suggestive  of 
boundless  possibilities  in  the  way  of  free  advertis- 
ing. The  last  link  had  been  welded  in  the  chain 
connecting  Los  Angeles  with  the  great  world ;  the 
last  rail  of  the  new  extension  of  the  Southern  Pa- 
cific Railroad  had  been  laid  ;  not  twenty-four  hours 
before,  the  first  through  train  from  San  Francisco 
had  steamed  into  the  new  station,  and  this  baker's 


7°"  AT  THE    TOWN   OF   THE 

dozen  of  journalists  had  come  down  to  write  up 
the  new  road.  They  were  lingering  to  write  up 
Los  Angeles,  and  should  not  the  Pico  House  re- 
ceive its  share  of  favorable  mention  ?  Certainly  it 
should,  if  unwearied  hospitality  and  courteous  at- 
tention on  the  proprietor's  part  could  touch  the 
hearts  of  newspaper  men. 

A  merry  party  they  were — a  few  from  Sacra- 
mento, San  Jos6,  and  Oakland,  but  the  greater  num- 
ber from  the  Golden  Gate.  The  vineyards  and 
orange  groves  of  Southern  California  were  new  to 
them ;  they  had  been  driving  all  day  long  through 
a  semi-tropical  fairy  land  ;  they  were  mostly  young 
men,  and  as  happy  as  school-boys  out  for  a  holiday. 
Had  the  host  but  known,  it  needed  not  this  capital 
dinner  with  its  accompanying  f usilade  of  champagne 
corks  to  keep  them  in  humor.  Los  Angeles  was 
sure  of  a  good  notice. 

There  is  a  limit  to  the  appetite  even  of  hungry 
"scribes."  The  tables  were  cleared,  cigars  were 
lighted,  and  the  conversation,  which  had  died  down 
to  a  dropping  fire  during  the  meal,  flashed  out  bril- 
liantly all  along  the  line.  The  host,  who  was  a 
martyr  to  gout,  after  seeing  that  none  of  the  ele- 
ments for  conviviality  were  wanting,  limped  off  with 
the  waiters,  but  lingered  a  moment  at  the  door  to 


QUEEN  OF   THE   ANGELS.  77 

catch  the  last  strain  of  the  musical  honors  with 
which  his  health  had  been  received.  Then  Los 
Angeles  was  discussed  with  a  fervor  of  praise  that 
must  have  made  the  angelic  ears  of  the  pretty  little 
city  tingle.  The  strangers  from  the  North  sought, 
from  such  of  their  number  as  might  be  supposed  to 
possess  it,  information  on  all  possible  and  impossible 
points — the  climate,  the  neighborhood,  the  antiqui- 
ties, the  beauty  of  the  women,  and  the  character  of 
the  men.  And  all  thought  that  the  pioneers  of  '49 
had  missed  their  opportunity  when  they  had  se- 
lected that  sand-spit  at  the  Golden  Gate  as  the  site 
of  the  metropolis  of  the  Pacific  Slope. 

Gerald  Ffrench,  the  accredited  representative  of 
the  San  Francisco  Evening  Mail,  felt  his  honors 
slipping  from  him.  All  day  long  he  had  been  the 
oracle  of  the  quartette  in  his  own  particular  carriage, 
and  his  decision  on  doubtful  points  had  been  ac- 
cepted as  final.  To  be  sure,  he  had  never  before 
been  in  Southern  California,  but  he  had  read  up 
exhaustively  in  preparation  for  the  trip  ;  and  most 
Irishmen,  particularly  at  six  and  twenty,  are  apt  to 
consider  their  information,  whether  acquired  at  first 
or  second  hand,  as  something  well  worth  having. 
But  now  Graham  Stokes,  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  had 
quietly  assumed  a  monopoly  of  knowledge.  It 


7  8  AT   THE    TOWN  OF   THE 

could  not  be  denied  that  Stokes  had  a  personal  ac- 
quaintance with  the  country,  and  had  lived  there 
for  nearly  two  years,  part  of  the  time  at  Los  An- 
geles and  part  at  Santa  Barbara.  He  could  speak 
Mexican-Spanish  too,  and  if  he  had  been  infected 
by  any  of  the  raptures  that  thrilled  the  rest  of  the 
party,  he  had  managed  to  keep  the  fact  to  himself. 
Calmly  and  confidently,  he  confuted  two  or  three 
of  Gerald's  book-made  theories,  and  established 
himself  as  king  of  the  company,  reducing  the 
younger  man  to  silence  and  champagne. 

Graham  Stokes  was  not  popular  among  his  brother 
journalists.  Perhaps  they  did  not  understand  him. 
In  the  first  place,  he  appeared  to  have  a  greater  com- 
mand of  money  than  was  usual  among  Californian 
knights  of  the  quill,  and  this  was  regarded  as  hardly 
respectable.  In  the  next  place,  he  had  never  been 
known  to  spend  a  dollar  on  anyone  but  himself — a 
most  damning  count  in  the  indictment.  Then,  he 
dressed  too  well,  and  shaved  every  day,  and  wore 
gold  eye-glasses.  He  never  touched  wine  or  spirits 
in  any  form — a  circumstance  so  unusual  at  that  day 
and  place  as  to  furnish  grave  ground  for  the  worst 
suspicions.  Nor  could  his  abstinence  be  ascribed  to 
any  morbid  conscientiousness,  for  there  was  an  ugly 
story  afloat  that  it  was  he  who  had  led  away  poor 


QUEEN  OF   THE  ANGELS  79 

Doc.  Brown  the  very  day  that  esteemed  member  of 
the  guild  had  obtained  his  envied  detail  on  the 
Humboldt  business,  and  had  intoxicated  him  so 
grossly  that  the  Summons  superseded  Brown  and 
sent  another  man  in  his  place.  And  it  was  notorious 
that  Graham  Stokes  had  secured  the  coveted  mis- 
sion. Here  were  grounds  enough  for  unpopularity, 
without  counting  that  he- was  a  man  of  nearly  forty, 
while  most  of  his  compeers  were  under  thirty,  and 
that  he  was  very  vain  of  his  good  looks,  in  a  commu- 
nity which  assuredly  did  not  try  to  make  the  most 
of  any  favors  of  that  kind  which  Heaven  had  granted 
its  members.  Doc.  Brown  had  characterized  him, 
not  in  the  heat  of  debate,  but  in  a  judicially  weighed 
and  calmly  expressed  opinion,  as  "  a  treacherous, 
slimy  snob,"  and  the  description  had  been  generally 
accepted  as  accurate. 

Still  Graham  Stokes  had  a  manifest  advantage  in 
a  gathering  like  the  present.  Nobody  liked  him, 
but,  as  he  was  not  generally  understood,  so  he  was 
generally  feared  ;  and  he  certainly  knew  more  about 
the  subject  of  immediate  interest  than  did  all  the 
rest  of  the  party  put  together.  As  the  information 
he  furnished  was  merely  of  a  nature  to  amuse  curios- 
ity and  of  no  value  for  publication,  he  gave  it  freely. 
On  points  of  importance  he  exhibited  a  reserve 


8O  AT   THE   TOWN   OF  THE 

which  did  not  escape  Frank  Hale,  of  the  Union,  who 
whispered  to  Gerald  Ffrench  that  he  would  back  the 
Golden  Fleece  to  print  the  best  Los  Angeles  letter 
after  all.  This  was  gall  and  wormwood  to  Gerald, 
but  he  contented  himself  with  remarking  that  Stokes 
seemed  in  such  an  unusually  giving  mood  to-night, 
that  it  would  not  be  surprising  if  he  ended  by  giv- 
ing himself  away. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Stokes,  finding  his  audience  to 
his  mind,  was  chatting  quite  amiably.  He  had  got 
on  the  subject  of  female  beauty,  always  a  favorite 
with  him,  and  proceeded  to  fire  the  imagination  of 
his  hearers  with  glowing  accounts  of  dark-eyed 
senoritas,  olive  of  complexion  and  lustrous  of  tress, 
who  had  figured  in  the  lighter  passages  of  his  life  in 
the  sunny  South.  The  man  was  as  vain  as  a  pea- 
cock, and  as  he  caressed  his  stubby  moustache  and 
related  his  adventures  in  his  peculiar  falsetto  voice, 
Gerald  felt  as  though  he  would  have  made  some 
personal  sacrifice  for  the  privilege  of  giving  the 
speaker  one  good,  hearty  kick. 

"  Here's  a  note  for  ye,  Mr.  Stokes,"  said  a  waiter, 
entering  the  room.  Mr.  Stokes  took  the  little 
folded  paper  with  an  accession  of  importance.  Its 
appearance  proved  that  he  had  correspondents  in 
the  Town  of  the  Queen  of  the  Angels,  and  the  man- 


QUEEN  OF   THE   ANGELS.  8 1 

ner  of  its  arrival  showed  that  he,  at  least,  was  no 
stranger.  The  waiter  had  accosted  him  by  name. 

"  How  did  it  come  ?"  he  asked,  leisurely  opening 
the  missive,  which  was  without  envelope  or  seal. 

"  It  come  be  hand,  sor  ;  more  betoken  be  a  very 
yallow  hand,"  answered  the  waiter,  with  a  grin. 

Mr.  Stokes  cast  his  eye  over  the  paper  and  ap- 
peared both  annoyed  and  perplexed.  "  Why,  it's 
two  miles  off,"  he  muttered;  "more!"  Then  he 
glanced  at  his  watch  and  fidgetted  in  his  chair.  Fin- 
ally he  read  the  note  again.  It  was  evidently  of  the 
briefest. 

The  incident  had  already  raised  Graham  Stokes 
several  degrees  in  the  estimation  of  his  companions. 
The  message  might  be  commonplace,  but  to  their 
excited  fancies  it  breathed  of  a  moonlight  tryst 
under  the  blossom-laden  orange-boughs.  Graham's 
stories  had  given  their  thoughts  a  turn  in  that  direc- 
tion. Conversation  was  suspended,  and  all  waited 
to  see  what  would  come  next.  The  waiter  stood, 
balanced  on  one  foot,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ceil- 
ing. Apparently  he  was  whistling  softly  to  him- 
self, but  if  so  it  was  only  the  ghost  of  a  tune,  for  no 
sound  escaped  his  puckered  lips. 

Stokes  seemed  nervous  and  undecided.     He  read 

the  note  a  third  time,  and  then,  with  the  air  of  a 
6 


82  AT  THE   TOWN  OF   THE 

man  who  has  made  up  his  mind,  he  crushed  it  to- 
gether in  his  hand  and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 

"  Can  I  have  a  saddle-horse,  right  off  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  To  be  sure,  sor.  Why  not  ? "  answered  the 
waiter,  without  removing  his  eyes  from  the  ceiling. 

"  Very  well  ;  tell  them  to  bring  one  round  at 
once,"  said  Stokes  ;  and  then,  as  the  waiter  took 
himself  and  his  phantom  whistle  toward  the  door, 
he  added,  "  what  kind  of  a  night  is  it  ?  " 

The  waiter  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  latch. 
"  It's  a  nice  night,  sor." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  nice  night?"  asked 
Stokes,  impatiently. 

"  There's  a  bit  of  a  moon  an'  a  nice  breeze  blow- 
in',"  explained  the  waiter. 

"  The  fellow  talks  as  if  I  was  going  yachting,'' 
said  Graham.  "  Off  with  you  now,  and  have  that 
horse  round  in  five  minutes  or  less." 

The  waiter  vanished,  apparently  whistling  a  quick- 
step, and  Stokes  rose.  Half  a  dozen  voices  were 
heard  in  eager  question,  but  he  shook  his  head  with 
a  Sphynx-like  smile. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  boys,"  he  replied,  in  his 
affected  voice,  "  I  never  talk  about  such  things.  I 
shall  be  back  before  eleven,  and  I'm  really  sorry  to 
leave  this  pleasant  company ;  but,  of  course — 


QUEEN  OF   THE   ANGELS.  83 

'  When  a  lady's  in  the  case 
You  know  all  other  things  give  place.'  " 

The  men  exchanged  glances  as  the  door  closed  on 
Mr.  Stokes. 

"  *  He  never  talks  about  such  things,'  "  cried  Hale, 
indignantly.  "  I'd  like  to  know  what  else  he's  been 
talking  about  for  the  last  half-hour." 

"  He's  only  putting  on  frills,"  said  Gerald  Ffrench. 
"  I  saw  that  note  annoyed  him  like  the  deuce  when 
he  first  read  it.  Most  likely  it's  a  dun." 

"  I  don't  know  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
Los  Angeles  duns,"  remarked  Tom  Murphy,  "  but 
if  they  have  the  winning  ways  to  take  a  man  from 
the  dinner-table  and  make  him  ride  a  couple  of 
miles  to  meet  them,  they  deserve  to  prosper — that's 
all" 

"  Very  likely  he's  written  the  note  to  himself, 
then,"  suggested  Ffrench ;  and,  as  illustrative  of  the 
esteem  in  which  Mr.  Stokes  was  held  by  hfs  fellow- 
workers,  it  may  be  added  that  this  hypothesis  was 
not  without  supporters. 

Up  from  the  street  came  the  sound  of  hoof-beats, 
as  of  a  horse  fast  ridden.  All  listened,  and  Hale 
held  up  his  finger. 

"Well,  if  he's  made  a  rendezvous  with  himself, 
he's  gone  to  keep  it,  that's  all,"  exclaimed  that 


84  AT  THE   TOWN  OF   THE 

young  gentleman,  as  the  trampling  died  away  in  the 
distance.  "  Whatever  he's  gone  after,  though,  I'll 
bet  he  won't  have  luck  with  it." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  inquired  Murphy. 

"  Didn't  you  notice  that  we  sat  down  thirteen  at 
table,"  answered  Hale.  "  It  didn't  worry  me  any, 
for  I  knew  I  was  one  of  the  boys.  We  are  all 
twelve  of  a  kind,  and  Graham  Stokes  was  the  odd 
man  in  this  gang,  if  anyone  was." 

"  Now,  fellows,"  cried  Gerald,  briskly,  "  we're  here 
in  a  new  town,  and  we  haven't  begun  to  look  into 
the  night  side  of  it  yet.  Come  on,  and  let  us  take 
in  the  sights,  if  there  are  any." 

Gerald  thought  that  Stokes,  present  or  absent, 
had  occupied  quite  enough  of  one  evening.  The 
diversion  was  entirely  successful.  Fresh  cigars  were 
lighted,  hats  were  sought  for,  and  the  journalists— 
an  even  dozen  of  them  now — started  out  to  see  Los 
Angeles. 

Long  before  eleven  they  were  all  back  again  on 
the  hotel  piazza.  They  were  vaguely  disappointed. 
What  they  had  expected  to  see,  not  one  of  them, 
probably,  could  have  told  ;  one  thing  was  certain, 
whatever  it  was,  they  had  not  seen  it.  They  lounged 
in  groups  about  the  door  or  on  the  steps.  The  host, 
half-sitting,  half-lying  in  a  hammock,  was  enjoying 


QUEEN  OF   THE  ANGELS.  85 

the  last  cigar  of  the  day  and  talking  to  Ffrench, 
Hale,  and  one  or  two  others.  The  waiter,  his  work 
done,  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  with  his 
hands  crossed  behind  him.  He  was  looking  up  at 
the  heavens,  and  the  silent  whistle  was  stereotyped 
on  his  lips.  Perhaps  he  was  calling  the  Dog  Star. 

"  Yes,  I  knew  him  well,"  the  host  was  saying  in 
answer  to  a  question  from  Hale.  "  He  didn't  live 
at  my  house ;  but  he  was  in  and  out  a  great  deal. 
That  was  six  months  ago." 

Gerald  Ffrench  left  the  group.  He  was  sick  of 
the  sound  of  Graham  Stokes's  name. 

"  He  lived  here  quite  a  while,  didn't  he  ?  "  asked 
Hale. 

"  Over  a  year,  off  and  on,"  answered  the  host. 
"  He  had  some  job  in  connection  with  the  railroad. 
I  don't  exactly  know  what." 

"Was  he  well  liked?" 

The  host  laughed.  "  Those  that  made  him  pay 
cash  liked  him  well  enough.  Those  that  trusted 
him  didn't.  I've  nothing  against  him." 

At  that  instant  the  rhythmic  beat  of  a  galloping 
horse's  hoofs  was  heard  far  up  the  silent  street. 
The  sound  grew  rapidly.  All  looked  up  and  the 
host  struggled  into  an  erect  attitude.  Even  the 
waiter  brought  his  eyes  earthward  and  listened. 


86  AT  THE    TOWN  OF   THE 

With  flapping  empty  stirrups  and  trailing  bridle, 
a  bay  and  white  mustang  came  on  at  full  speed. 
On  reaching  the  Pico  House  he  wheeled  in  his 
tracks  so  abruptly  that  he  almost  fell.  Then,  re- 
covering his  stride,  he  dashed  past  the  building 
toward  the  stables. 

The  host  was  all  alert  in  a  moment,  and  despite 
his  gout  hobbled  quickly  to  the  end  of  the  veranda 

and  looked  over.     "  He's   gone   straight    into    the 

• 
yard,"  he  said,  and  then,  meeting  the  blank  looks  of 

the  group  of  newspaper  men,  to  whom  the  riderless 
steed  suggested  a  tragedy,  he  added  :  "  Wasn't  that 
the  horse  Mr.  Stokes  had  this  evening  ?  " 

No  one  could  answer ;  no  one  had  seen  Mr. 
Stokes  ride  away.  Yes,  the  waiter  had,  and  he 
banished  the  whistle  from  his  lips  and  spoke  straight 
to  the  point. 

"  The  same  horse,  sor." 

"  Run  round  to  the  stable  then,  Pat,  and  tell 
some  of  those  greasers  to  come  and  bring  their  lan- 
terns." 

Pat  was  off  like  a  shot,  following  the  same  road 
the  mustang  had  taken. 

"Do  you  think "  faltered  Gerald.  The 

host  cut  him  short. 

"  That  an  accident  has  happened  ?     Of  course  I 


QUEEN   OF   THE   ANGELS.  8/ 

do,  or  why  should  Pedro  have  come  back  alone  ? 
At  any  rate,  it's  our  business  to  see.  I  wish  I  could 
go  myself,  but  it's  all  I  can  do  to  walk  the  length  of 
this  piazza." 

Gerald  felt  faint  and  queer.  If  any  serious  acci- 
dent had  happened  to  the  man  whom  he  had  been 
hating  so  industriously  all  the  evening,  this  visit  to 
Los  Angeles  would  be  anything  but  a  pleasant 
memory.  The  host's  next  words  were  more  reassur- 
ing. 

"  Of  course,  it  mayn't  be  anything.  Mr.  Stokes 
may  have  hitched  the  beast  up  somewheres,  and  he 
may  have  broke  loose  and  run  home.  Still,  I  don't 
see  why  he  should  have  acted  so  frightened,  un- 
less  "  The  rest  of  the  remark  was  lost  as  the 

speaker  leaned  over  the  piazza  railing  and  looked  in 
the  direction  of  the  stables.  Lights  were  twinkling 
there,  and  presently  half  a  dozen  Mexican  helpers 
appeared,  carrying  large  lanterns  and  headed  by  Pat, 
the  waiter.  The  latter  had  put  on  a  nondescript 
head-covering  of  the  sombrero  order. 

"  What's  that  on  your  head,  Pat  ?"  demanded  his 
employer. 

"  Me  caubeen,"  answered  Pat,  taking  it  off  for  a 
moment  and  examining  it  critically  before  he  re- 
placed it. 


88  AT  THE    TOWN  OF   THE 

"  I  mean,  are  you  going  with  the  searching  party  ?  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  Go  if  you  want  to,"  answered  the  host.  "  I'd 
like  to  go  myself,  but ''  he  broke  off  impa- 
tiently, and  pointed  up  the  street.  "  Now,  boys, 
that's  the  way  Pedro  came,  and  that's  the  way  you 
have  to  go  to  look  for  the  seftor.  Look  for  him 
well.  Savey  ?  " 

"  Si,  seftor,"  answered  one  of  the  Mexicans,  and 
they  started.  Of  course  the  newspaper  men  went 
also.  Professional  duty  would  have  impelled  them, 
even  if  the  missing  man  had  not  been  a  brother  of 
the  craft. 

On  reaching  the  end  of  the  street  the  Mexican  in 
advance  stooped  and  examined  the  ground  carefully 
by  the  aid  of  his  lantern.  A  short  scrutiny  sufficed, 
and  he  turned  from  the  river  and  led  the  party 
westward  at  a  brisk  pace.  They  were  soon  clear  of 
the  town,  and  it  was  not  difficult  to  trace  the  hoof 
marks  in  the  sandy  soil,  even  without  other  light 
than  that  furnished  by  a  thin  crescent  of  a  moon. 
Where  there  was  any  doubt  the  lanterns  were  called 
into  use. 

Ffrench  walked  beside  Pat.  The  waiter's  eyes 
were  withdrawn  from  heavenly  things  and  fixed 
unwinkingly  on  the  sand  at  his  feet.  His  whistle 


QUEEN  OF    THE   ANGELS.  89 

was  almost  audible.     He  was  evidently  pondering 
deeply. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  business,  Pat  ?  "  the 
young  journalist  asked. 

"  Bad,  sor,  bad,5'  returned  the  other,  without  rais- 
ing his  eyes. 

"  But. mightn't  the  horse  have  broken  away  from 
some  place  where  Mr.  Stokes  had  hitched  him  ?  " 
.     "  He  might,  sor  ;  divil  a  doubt  of  it,  an'  he  might 
have  tied  a  bit  of  cactus  to  his  tail  by  way  of  keepin' 
him  from  missin'  the  spur,  but  I  don't  think  he  did." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Gerald,  surprised. 
"  Was  there  a  bit  of  cactus  tied  to  his  tail  ?  " 

"  There  was,  sor,  an'  a  raal  thorny  bit,  too." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  that  ? "  asked  the 
young  man. 

"  I  don't  account  for  it,  sor ;  cactus  is  one  of  them 
things  that  won't  bear  accountin'  for." 

Ffrench  was  profoundly  puzzled.  Evidently 
someone,  either  Stokes  or  some  other  person,  had 
sent  the  horse  home  and  had  taken  precautions  that 
he  should  lose  no  time  on  the  road. 

They  were  fairly  among  the  orange  groves  by  this 
time  and  their  progress  was  slower,  for  the  light  of 
the  lanterns  was  required  at  every  step.  There  had 
been  a  high  wind  earlier  in  the  evening,  and  it  was 


90  AT   7 HE    TOWN   OF   THE 

still  blowing,  though  with  diminished  force.  The 
dark  branches  swayed  above  them,  intercepting  the 
moonbeams.  In  the  open  spaces  between  the  trees 
they  could  see  the  ground  strewn  with  white  blos- 
soms, and  the  air  was  heavy  with  their  fragrance. 
The  grove  was  filled  with  voices  new  to  the  visitors 
from  the  north.  Through  the  perfumed  darkness 
came  the  rasping  song  of  the  cicada,  the  harsh  croak 
of  the  tree-toad,  and  the  whir  of  great  insects  that 
dashed  at  the  lights  with  a  sound  like  a  released 
balance  spring.  Gerald  had  grown  accustomed  to 
these  noises  and,  wrapped  in  his  own  thoughts,  was 
hardly  conscious  of  them,  when  suddenly  another 
tone — a  strange  tone,  and  yet  one  that  seemed  oddly 
familiar,  mingled  with  the  babble  of  the  southern 
night.  Ffrench  stopped  abruptly  and  clutched  Pat's 
arm.  The  waiter  had  heard  it  too  ;  all  had  heard 
it,  and  had  halted  instinctively.  The  party  was 
crossing  a  small  opening  and  the  young  moon  gave 
light  enough  to  show  the  expression  of  doubt  and 
disquietude  on  every  face. 

Again  that  sound — a  bubbling,  gurgling  groan  — 
the  voice  of  a  man  in  agony,  the  cry  of  a  drowning 
man,  and  yet,  even  in  its  indistinctness,  there 
was  something  of  the  falsetto  utterance  which  was 
the  peculiarity  of  poor  Graham  Stokes's  speech. 


QUEEN  OF   THE   ANGELS.  91 

Poor  Graham  Stokes  !  It  was  thus  that  Gerald 
Ffrench  thought  of  him  already ;  it  was  thus  that 
he  thought  of  him  when,  five  minutes  later,  sick 
with  horror,  he  bent  above  the  body  lying  dead  at 
the  foot  of  an  orange  tree,  with  a  shower  of  the 
fragrant  blossoms  mingled  snow-white  and  blood- 
red  above  and  around  it,  and  the  crescent  of  the 
new  moon  dropping  a  pale  shaft  of  light  through 
the  boughs  on  the  white,  silent  face. 

Blood  had  flowed  from  the  mouth  and  still  hung 
there  in  bubbles ;  blood,  but  not  so  much,  had 
flowed  from  the  breast  and  stained  the  clothing 
around  the  deep  dagger  wound  which  had  let  the 
life  out. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  "  asked  Ffrench,  breathlessly,  and 
one  of  the  Mexicans,  raising  the  arm  of  the  stif- 
fening corpse,  let  it  fall  again  as  he  answered : 

"  Si,  sefior,  he  is  dead  more  as  an  hour." 

"  Impossible  !  "  Hale  broke  in.  "  We  heard  his 
groans  as  we  were  crossing  that  glade  a  moment 
ago." 

Pat,  who  had  knelt  by  the  body,  shrank  away 
from  it.  "  He's  cowld  already,  sor ;  that  must  have 
been  the  banshee  we  heerd." 

A  feeling  of  superstitious  awe  fell  on  the  party. 
The  Mexicans  drew  away  and  huddled  together 

. 


92  AT   7^HE    TOWN  OF   THE 

like  a  flock  of  frightened  sheep.  Evidently  it 
would  have  required  little  to  make  them  take  to 
their  heels. 

"  Don't  move,"  shouted  Gerald,  in  a  tone  of  com- 
mand ;  "  we  must  carry  this  back  to  the  hotel." 

"  I  don't  think  we've  any  call  to  disturb  it,  sor," 
said  Pat,  "  until  the  polis  comes.  This  is  a  murder." 

The  Mexicans  caught  at  the  idea.  "  Si,  si,  los 
alguazils  !  "  they  shouted  and  set  off  at  full  speed 
along  the  road  they  had  come. 

"  Here,  come  back,  you  cowardly  greasers ! " 
called  Hale,  and  Gerald  laid  his  hand  on  Pat,  who 
seemed  inclined  to  follow  their  example.  The 
swinging  lanterns  gleamed  a  moment  among  the 
orange  trees  like  gigantic  fire-flies,  and  then  vanished. 
The  terrified  waiter  drew  closer  to  the  little  band  of 
journalists,  and  the  dead  man,  looking  straight  up 
to  heaven  with  his  staring  eyes,  lay  at  their  feet. 

"  It's  very  strange,  very  !  "  murmured  Murphy. 

"  It's  more  nor  strange,  sor ;  it  isn't  right,"  cried 
Pat ;  and  then  he  broke  off  abruptly  and  raised  his 
hand.  "  Hark  !  Didn't  ye  hear  something  ?  " 

They  had  all  heard  it — a  bubbling,  gurgling 
moan,  conveying  in  its  agony  an  indefinable  rem- 
iniscence of  the  dead  man's  voice. 

They  looked  at  each   other  with    blank,  horror- 


QUEEN    OF   THE   ANGELS.  93 

stricken  faces.  No  one  could  tell  whence  the  sound 
came.  Gerald  bent  over  the  body  again,  but  there 
was  no  change  on  that  pale  face,  no  light  in  those 
ghastly,  open  eyes. 

"  Jintlemen,  it  isn't  right,  it  isn't  right !  "  screamed 
the  poor  waiter,  in  an  agony  of  terror.  "  There's 
sperrits  about  us  !  For  the  love  of  the  Lord,  jintle- 
men,  let  us  go  home  ! '' 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Ffrench,  overcoming  with  a  vi- 
olent effort  the  strange  sense  of  horror  that  seemed 
to  chill  his  blood  ;  "  nonsense  !  Someone  must  re- 
main here  till  the  police  come.  They'll  be  along 
presently.  Those  Mexicans  will  give  the  alarm.  It 
can't  be  far  to  the  city." 

"  All  of  two  miles,"  whispered  the  waiter,  faintly ; 
and  Ffrench  recollected  that  the  dead  man  had 
spoken  of  a  similar  distance  when  he  received  the 
summons  after  dinner. 

"  He  has  been  lured  here  on  some  pretence  or 
other  ;  this  murder  was  a  planned  thing.  The  note 
you  brought  him  at  the  hotel,  Pat " 

He  could  go  no  further.  Again  that  groan  of 
mortal  anguish  struck  on  their  ears;  they  could 
not  determine  its  direction.  It  seemed  to  float 
down  like  the  moonbeams  through  the  blossomed 
boughs. 


94  AT   THE    TOWN  OF   THE 

"  This  is  past  a  joke,"  said  Hale,  in  an  awe- 
stricken  whisper,  falling  back  a  step.  Pat  was  on 
his  knees,  crossing  himself  with  trembling  fingers, 
and  calling  in  incoherent  prayer  on  numberless 
saints  and  martyrs. 

"  I — I  think  it  must  be  fancy,"  hazarded  Murphy, 
but  his  voice  shook  as  he  said  it. 

"Fancy  or  no  fancy,  I'll  not  wait  in  it  another 
minnit,"  shouted  Pat,  springing  to  his  feet. 

"  You  can  go  if  you  want,  Pat,  but  I  think,  boys, 
it's  our  duty  to  stay  where  we  are,"  observed  Gerald 
Ffrench,  looking  round  the  group. 

A  murmur  of  assent  showed  that  the  journalistic 
spirit  was  staunch  yet,  and  Pat,  after  taking  a 
few  steps,  slunk  back  to  the  others.  He  did  not 
dare  to  face  the  horrors  of  the  haunted  grove 
alone. 

"  Oh,  wirra,  wirra,"  he  moaned,  "  that  it  should 
come  to  this  !  I  always  towld  him  thim  Mendozas 
was  a  bad  lot,  an'  what  did  he  want  to  make  or 
meddle  wid  the  likes  o'  them  !  Maybe  it's  because 
I  brought  him  the  note  that  he's  come  back  to  hant 
me." 

"  Do  you  know  the  man  who  gave  you  the  note  ?  " 
asked  Gerald,  eagerly,  scenting  a  clew. 

"  No,   I   niver  seen  him  before,'5   answered   Pat ; 


QUEEN  OF   THE   ANGELS.  95 

"  he  was  just  a  common  ivery  day  greaser,  an'  I 
med  no  account  of  him.  How  was  I  to  misthrust 
that  he — oh,  wirra,  wirra,  that  it  should  come  to 
this  ! " 

"  Who's  this  Mendoza  you  were  talking  about  ?  " 
pursued  Gerald. 

"  He's  an  ould  greaser  that  had  a  bit  of  a  ranch 
out  San  Pablo  way ;  and  he  had  a  daughter  that 
Mr.  Stokes  was  said  to  be  very  swate  on,  but  sure 
I  dunno  if  there  was  anything  in  it  ?  " 

"  Where  is  the  daughter  now  ?  " 

"Dead,  rest  her  sowl,  as  dead  as — as  that  wan 
there,  rest  his  sowl,  if  it  will  rest.  She  tuk  her  life, 
at  laste  that's  what  was  said  when  they  found  her 
floating  in  the  bay,  about  six  months  ago." 

"  About  six  months  ago  !  "  The  men  exchanged 
glances.  The  date  of  the  poor  girl's  suicide  seemed 
to  correspond  with  Graham's  departure  from  Los 
Angeles. 

"Was  this  before  or  after  Mr.  Stokes  left?" 
asked  Ffrench. 

"Just  afther  !  They  did  say  that  he'd  promised  to 
marry  Inez,  and  that  it  was  because  he  went  off  that 
she  done  it — the  Lord  pardon  her." 

"  And  the  old  man— the  father  ?  " 

"  He  tuk  on  terrible,  and  said  that  he  didn't  give 


96  AT  THE    TOWN  OF   THE 

a  trauneen  for  his  life  once  his  daughter  was  gone  ; 
but  he  had  very  hard  feelins  agin  the  man  that 
druv  her  to  it,  an'  swore  he'd  have  his  rivinge 
of  him,  if  he'd  to  wait  for  it  till  the  day  o'  judg- 
ment." 

The  newspaper  men  consulted  together.  Here 
was  a  clew,  certainly.  If  Stokes  had  attempted  to 
play  the  Don  Juan  among  these  people — hot- 
blooded  and  hot-headed  as  everyone  described 
them,  the  explanation  of  the  crime  became  simple. 
It  was  easy  to  conjure  up  the  vision  of  a  gray-haired 
father,  living  only  in  the  happiness  of  a  beloved  and 
beautiful  daughter.  And  when  her  corpse  floated 
in  with  the  tide,  and  the  evidence  of  her  shame  fur- 
nished reason  for  her  death — a  piteous  picture — it 
was  not  hard  to  imagine  the  fiery  old  Spaniard 
nursing  the  thought  of  vengeance  as  his  only  so- 
lace. This  theory  would  explain  everything  ex- 
cept— 

Again  that  moan,  awful,  weird,  almost  super- 
natural in  its  resemblance  to  the  voice  of  the  dead 
man  who  lay  at  their  feet  voiceless.  The  watchers 
drew  together  for  a  moment,  and  then,  with  one 
impulse,  started  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  the 
trembling  waiter  crouching  along  at  their  heels  like 
a  whipped  spaniel.  His  lips  were  puckered  to  their 


QUEEN    OF   THE   ANGELS.  97 

habitual  whistle,  and  seemed  to  accentuate,  in  some 
grotesque  way,  the  terror  on  his  face. 

Before  they  had  gone  many  yards  they  met  the 
police,  and  hailed  the  approaching  glimmer  of  the 
lights  among  the  foliage  as  they  might  have  wel- 
comed the  eyes  of  a  friend.  All  turned  back  to- 
gether, and  in  a  few  words  Gerald  put  Captain 
Strong,  who  had  come  in  person,  in  possession  of 
all  he  knew  about  the  tragedy.  The  captain  heard 
him  in  silence. 

"  He  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  you  say  ?  "  in- 
quired the  officer,  when  Gerald  had  concluded. 

"Yes,"  replied  Hale,  "he  crumpled  it  up,  and 
put  it  in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  I  saw  him." 

The  body  had  been  lifted  on  a  stretcher,  and 
Captain  Strong,  bending  over  it,  secured  the  paper. 
Carefully  smoothing  out  the  creases,  he  read  it  by 
the  light  of  a  lantern  which  one  of  his  men  held  for 
him. 

"  It's  written  in  Spanish,"  said  the  Captain  ;  "  a 
request  for  the  deceased  to  meet  the  writer  near  the 
western  edge  of  Jones's  orange  grove — this  is  the 
very  spot — and  it  is  signed  '  Inez  Mendoza ! '  Inez 
Mendoza !  Why,  that's  the  girl  that  drowned 
herself  six  months  ago." 
7 


98  AT   THE    TOWN   OF    THE 

"  It's  a  decoy  letter,  Cap,"  suggested  one  of  the 
officers. 

"  That's  plain  enough  !     But  who  wrote  it  ?" 

The  Captain  mused  a  moment,  and  then  resumed. 
"  Harkins,  go  down  to  Mendoza's  ranch  —  we're 
half  way  to  it  now,  and  bring  the  old  man  to 
town." 

The  policeman  withdrew,  and  the  others,  raising 
the  stretcher,  stepped  out  slowly  with  their  ghastly 
burden. 

Pat  had  recovered  some  of  his  confidence  with  the 
arrival  of  the  policemen  and  the  lights.  He  kept  by 
Gerald's  side  when  they  started. 

"  Aren't  ye  goin'  to  tell  them  anything  about  the 
sperrit  groans,  sor  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Gerald  ;  "  I'd  like  to  find 
some  explanation  of  them  myself  first." 

Suddenly  the  Captain  halted,  and  raised  his  hand. 
"  Hark  !  what  was  that  ?  " 

They  all  heard  it,  policemen,  watchers,  all  !  It 
came  from  the  grove  in  front  of  them,  and  sounded 
weird  and  awful  amid  the  wonted  sounds  of  the 
tropic  night. 

"We've  heard  it  several  times,"  gasped  Murphy, 
"  and  we  can't  make  out  what  it  is !  And  it  has  a 
kind  of  uncanny  likeness  to  poor  Stokes's  voice/' 


QUEEN   OF   THE   ANGELS.  99 

The  Captain  glanced  sharply  at  the  motionless 
figure  on  the  stretcher,  and  then  gave  the  signal  to 
proceed.  The  groans  continued,  always  keeping  a 
few  paces  in  advance. 

The  cold  sweat  ran  down  Pat's  face,  and  his  ner- 
vous fingers  never  ceased  to  make  the  sign  of  the 
cross  above,  around,  on  every  side  of  him.  They 
all  seemed  uncomfortable — all  but  one  old,  grizzled 
policeman — and  conversation  sank  to  whispers,  and 
then  died  out  altogether.  But  the  moans  contin- 
ued, still  in  front,  as  if  summoning  them  on. 

"  Very  strange,  very  strange ! "  said  Captain 
Strong.  He  was  thinking  aloud,  but  he  was  not 
left  unanswered. 

"  It  is  strange,  Captain  " — the  speaker  was  the 
grizzled  old  officer  who  bore  the  feet  of  the  corpse — 
"  it  is  strange,  but  it's  happened  before  ! " 

"  Happened  before  !  That  a  dead  man  should 
send  his  dying  groans  on  before  his  corpse,"  broke 
in  Hale ;  "  for  that's  Graham  Stokes's  voice,  I'd 
swear  to  it." 

"  You're  right,  an'  you're  wrong,"  said  the  old  fel- 
low, dogmatically.  "This  here  corpse,  as  we  may 
call  it,  has  died  of  a  stab  in  the  lungs,  if  I  make 
bold  to  mention  so  much  in  advance  of  the  medical 


100  AT   THE    TOWN"  OF   THE 

11  I  suppose  so,"  admitted  Ffrench,  whose  experi- 
ence as  a  reporter  had  often  taken  him  to  the  San 
Francisco  morgue,  and  who  could  give  a  fairly  ex- 
pert opinion  in  cases  of  death  by  violence. 

"  Very  well !  How  long  does  it  take  a  man  to 
die  of  a  cut  in  the  lung  ?  " 

"  An  hour,  half  an  hour — I  don't  know,"  said 
Gerald. 

"  Maybe — maybe  two  hours  ?  Ay,  it  may  be  three 
that  this  man  has  lain  under  that  orange  tree,  wait- 
ing for  his  death  to  come  to  him,  choking  in  his  own 
blood  and  moaning  in  his  agony." 

All  shuddered  at  the  horrible  picture  thus  vividly 
presented. 

"  Did  anyone  hear  these  groans  ? "  went  on  the 
old  policeman,  who  had  by  this  time  a  breathlessly 
attentive  audience.  "  No  one,  at  least  so  far  as 
appears." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Murphy ;  "  we  heard 
his  groans  for  several  minutes  before  we  reached 
him." 

"  Asking  your  pardon,  young  man,  you  lie,"  re- 
turned the  old  officer.  "  He  was  stiff  and  cold  be- 
fore you  got  within  a  mile  of  him.  I  say  no  one 
heard  his  groans,  but  I  don't  say  no  thing  heard 
them." 


QUEEN   OF   THE   ANGELS.  IOI 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it,  Pachett  ?  "  asked 
the  Captain.  "  Whoever,  or  whatever  heard  them, 
we  hear  them  now,"  for  at  that  moment  the  dismal, 
sound  was  repeated.  •  \  \'>t\  >  V  ,  '«.'  ;' 

"  Ay,  and  will  hear  them  till  somebody ,  $h0&t& : 
that  cat-bird,"  said  Pachett,  pdintiiig  tt)  a  dark  object 
that  flitted  among  the  trees  a  few  paces  ahead  of 
the  party.  Ffrench  recognized  the  flight  of  the  Cal- 
ifornia mocking-bird,  called  in  local  parlance  the 
cat-bird,  and  as  he  realized  the  man's  meaning  a 
familiar  verse  of  scripture  came  to  his  mind  : 

"  For  a  bird  of  the  air  shall  carry  the  voice,  and 
that  which  hath  wings  shall  tell  the  matter." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  ? "  began  the  Cap- 
tain. 

"  I  mean  to  say,  Cap,"  said  the  old  policeman, 
that  that  there  bird  was  likely  sitting  in  one  of 
them  trees  the  whole  time,  and  saw  the  meeting 
and  saw  the  murder.  It's  a  pity  we  can't  subpeny 
it  as  a  witness,  but  we  can't.  I  likewise  say  that 
that  there  bird,  sitting  in  one  of  them  trees,  listened 
to  that  man's  groans  for  an  hour  or  more — we've  no 
way  of  being  sure  of  the  time — and  is  now  repeat- 
ing the  new  sound  he  has  just  learned,  as  is  the  na- 
ture of  the  beast.  And  as  the  sounds  are  not  very 
agreeable,  I'll  just  take  the  liberty — "  and  the  old 


102  AT  THE    TOWN  OF  THE 

man  discharged  his  revolver  in  the  direction  of  the 
mocking-bird,  which  flew  away  among  the  trees 
with  a  shrill  scream  that  still  carried  with  it  some 
strange  reminder  of  the  haunting  moan. 

The  -party  -exchanged  glances;  some  of  the 
younger  men' attempted  to  laugh,  but  without  much 
success.  There  was  an  effectual  check  to  merri- 
ment in  that  silent  figure  on  the  stretcher,  and 
though  the  mystery  was  dissolved,  there  was  little 
comfort  in  the  thought.  The  bird  had  made  them 
realize  with  horrible  clearness  the  lonely  and  pro- 
tracted death  agony  of  the  murdered  man. 

Pat  gave  voice  to  the  general  feeling  as  he  shook 
his  fist  at  the  tree  behind  which  the  bird  had  van- 
ished, and  exclaimed  :  "  Bad  cess  to  ye,  then,  for  an 
onnatural,  hathen  fowl,  an'  may  the  first  bit  ye  ate 
choke  ye  for  puttin'  the  heart  acrass  in  me  wid 
fright,  an'  amin  to  ye." 

The  journalists  had  arranged  to  return  to  their 
several  papers  on  the  following  day,  but  the  mur- 
der of  Graham  Stokes  postponed  their  departure 
for  twenty-four  hours.  They  were  obliged  to  wait 
for  the  inquest.  Ffrench  met  Captain  Strong  the 
following  morning,  and  asked  if  old  Mendoza  had 
been  arrested. 

"  No,  Harkins  was  too  late,"  replied  the  Captain. 


QUEEN   OF   THE   ANGELS.  1 03 

"  But  there  can  be  little  doubt  but  that  Mendoza 
was  the  guilty  party." 

"  Has  he  escaped,  then  ?  "  asked  Gerald.  "  Have 
you  any  prospect  of  catching  him  ?  " 

"  None,"  answered  the  Captain,  with  a  grim 
smile.  "  Harkins  found  him  lying  dressed  on  his 
bed,  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand  and  a  bullet  through 
his  heart.  The  thing  is  plain  enough.  He  wrote 
to  Stokes,  whom  he  evidently  knew  to  be  ignorant 
of  the  daughter's  death,  and  signed  the  letter  with 
her  name  to  make  sure  of  the  effect  he  wished. 
Well,  it  worked,  and  Stokes  went  to  his  death.  No 
one  knows  what  passed  between  the  two  men,  but  I 
think  it  is  not  difficult  to  guess.  Mendoza  has  been 
almost  crazy  since  his  daughter's  death." 

"  Then  there  is  no  doubt "  began  Gerald. 

"  That  your  friend  deceived  her.  I  think  not. 
It  is  a  very  sad  story.  I  always  thought  that  Stokes 
was  a  bad  egg.  Well,  he's  dead  now,  and  his  mur- 
derer must  have  gone  straight  to  his  lonely  house, 
and  saved  the  State  of  California  the  trouble  of  try- 
ing him.  The  inquest  will  be  at  twelve.  So  long," 
and  Captain  Strong  strolled  off  down  the  street. 

Gerald  Ffrench  found  more  pity  in  his  heart  for 
the  Spaniard  he  had  never  seen — murderer  though 
he  undoubtedly  was — than  for  the  American  whom 


104  QUEEN   OF    THE    ANGELS. 

he  had  dined  with  the  night  before,  and  had  met  al- 
most daily  for  six  months. 

Not  one  of  the  journalists  will  admit  that  he  was 
frightened  that  night,  or  that  any  thought  of  the 
supernatural  ever  crossed  his  mind,  but  it  is  remark- 
able, in  the  full  reports  of  the  tragedy  which  ap- 
peared in  the  California  papers,  that  no  mention 
was  made  of  the  "  Wandering  Voice." 


AN   OLD  MAN    FROM  THE   OLD 
COUNTRY. 


AN  OLD  MAN  FROM  THE  OLD 
COUNTRY. 


AT  five  o'clock  the  harsh  east  wind,  that  bane  of 
summer  afternoons  in  San  Francisco,  had  almost 
died  away.  It  had  been  blowing  with  more  than 
ordinary  force,  and  the  air  was  still  full  of  drifting 
particles  from  the  sand-lots — pungent,  intrusive 
atoms  that  made  eyes  smart  and  lips  crack.  But 
the  crowd,  setting  southward  along  Montgomery 
Street,  was  good-humored  and  jovial,  for  was  not  a 
great  holiday  in  near  prospect  ?  A  few  days  more, 
and  the  sun  of  the  centennial  year  would  rise  on 
Independence  Day — the  Fourth  of  July,  1876. 

Just  outside  the  eddy  of  the  crowd,  almost  in 
the  doorway  of  the  "  Evening  Mail "  office,  Gerald 
Ffrench  stood  and  waited.  He  fidgeted  and  grum- 
bled a  little  :  that  was  mainly  the  result  of  im- 
patience. He  rubbed  his  eyes  frequently,  for  the 
sand-dust  was  penetrating ;  and  two  gold  coins 


108      AN  OLD  MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY. 

which  he  rattled  in  his  hand  gave  out  a  musical 
clinking.  They  were  both  twenty-dollar  pieces,  for 
this  was  Saturday  evening  and  pay-day  at  the  office 
of  the  "  Evening  Mail." 

Presently  a  short,  thick-set  man  with  a  dark  beard 
left  the  building  and  joined  him.  The  new-comer 
wore  a  soft  felt  hat,  a  rather  shabby  pea-jacket,  and 
a  pair  of  spectacles.  The  rest  of  his  attire  was  more 
conventional.  Gerald  greeted  him  with  a  reproach 
for  his  delay,  and  the  two  stepped  into  the  street, 
moving  southward  with  the  crowd. 

"  It's  all  very  well  for  you,  Jerry,"  said  Ffrench's 
companion.  "  You  can  feed  the  cashier  with  theatre 
tickets,  and  get  your  money  ahead  of  your  turn.  I'll 
bet  you  were  paid  in  gold  too,"  he  added,  with  some 
touch  of  injured  feeling  in  his  voice. 

Gerald  laughed,  and  clinked  his  two  coins  to- 
gether. "  Of  course,"  resumed  the  other.  "  Look 
at  me !  "  and  from  each  pocket  he  produced  a  roll 
of  whity-brown  paper  which  looked  heavy,  and,  as 
every  California!!  could  tell  at  a  glance,  contained 
forty  half-dollars. 

"  That  reminds  me — "  said  Gerald.  "  Wait  a 
minute,  Doc."  They  were  passing  a  money- 
broker's  office,  and  the  younger  man  went  in,  leav- 
ing the  other  on  the  sidewalk. 


AN  OLD   MAN  FROM   THE    OLD   COUNTRY.       1 09 

They  had  always  called  him  "  Doctor,"  this  man 
of  the  spectacles  and  shabby  pea-jacket,  but  whether 
of  law,  physic,  or  divinity  none  of  "  the  boys  ''  at  the 
"  Evening  Mail "  had  ever  thought  to  inquire.  His 
real  name  was  Brown,  and  he  was  probably  quite  as 
ignorant  of  the  origin  of  his  learned  title  as  was  any 
man  of  the  scores  who  addressed  him  by  it.  Pos- 
sibly it  grew  out  of  his  glasses. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  queried,  as  Gerald  emerged  from  the 
broker's  office. 

"  Dollar  and  a  quarter  premium,"  answered 
Gerald,  who  had  two  of  the  whity-brown  rolls  in 
his  hand  besides  some  loose  silver. 

"  That's  it !  "  said  the  Doctor,  with  an  indignant 
sniff.  "  Two  and  a  half  extra  on  your  week's  sal- 
ary. Who  wouldn't  be  in  the  cashier's  good  graces  ?  " 

Gerald  indulged  in  a  covert  smile.  The  pair 
were  warm  friends  and  roomed  together ;  but  the 
Doctor  had  a  habit  of  railing  at  his  lot,  and  this 
special  complaint  recurred  every  Saturday  night. 
It  always  ended  in  the  same  way,  and  Gerald  wait- 
ed for  the  suggestion  that  invariably  closed  the  sub- 
ject. It  soon  came. 

"  You're  going  to  treat  on  that,  I  suppose  ?" 

By  this  time  they  had  crossed  Market  Street,  and 
were  continuing  southward  along  Third.  On  an  un- 


110      AN   OLD   MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY. 

pretentious  corner  stood  a  grocery,  its  front  embel- 
lished with  sacks  of  potatoes  and  baskets  of  vege- 
tables, its  windows  crowded  with  cans  of  preserved 
meats,  sardine-boxes,  and  the  like,  and  its  door  in- 
vitingly open  and  level  with  the  wooden  pavement. 
A  ruddy  eruption  of  signboards  all  over  the  exterior 
announced  that  one  P.  Gerraghty  dwelt  within,  and 
dealt  in  groceries  of  all  kinds;  also  in  fine  wines 
and  liquors  and  imported  cigars.  Evidently  Mr. 
Gerraghty  was  ashamed  of  neither  his  name  nor 
his  business. 

The  two  friends  passed  the  long  counter,  with  its 
flour-scales  and  its  sugar-scales,  and  its  flourishing 
Saturday  trade  in  dry  groceries.  Gerald  had  re- 
turned no  answer ;  the  Doctor  had  made  no  further 
remark.  His  suggestion  was  about  to  be  acted 
upon. 

At  the  rear  of  the  store  proper  was  a  snugly  fitted- 
up  bar-room,  and  over  this  portion  of  the  establish- 
ment Mr.  Gerraghty  presided  in  person.  He  was  a 
tall  man  with  a  dark  mustache,  and  had  a  slight 
cast  in  his  eye  ;  not  exactly  the  person  you  would 
care  to  meet  on  a  lonely  road  at  midnight,  yet, 
withal,  popular  with  his  neighbors  and  a  political 
power  in  his  ward.  He  was  standing  at  the  end  of 
the  bar  in  conversation  with  a  customer. 


AN  OLD  MAN  FROM  THE    OLD   COUNTRY.       Ill 

This  latter  was  an  old  man,  low  in  stature,  spare 
of  frame,  shabbily  dressed,  and  quite  insignificant 
in  appearance.  His  hair  was  of  a  brick-dust  hue, 
plentifully  sprinkled  with  gray;  he  wore  a  strag- 
gling beard  of  the  same  color,  flecked  with  the 
same  signs  of  advancing  age ;  he  lifted  a  pair  of 
small,  cunning  eyes  as  the  new-comers  entered. 
Evidently  he  recognized  one  of  them. 

"  Ah,  Docther,  how  are  ye  ? "  he  said,  in  the 
broad,  strongly  accented  tones  which  at  once  stamp 
the  speaker  as  born  somewhere  west  of  Dublin  City 
and  east  of  Shannon  Shore.  The  Doctor  only 
nodded  ;  the  little  man  turned  to  resume  his  con- 
versation with  Gerraghty ;  but  that  functionary, 
seeing  the  two  newspaper  men  range  up  to  the  bar, 
took  his  place  behind  it. 

"  What's  yours,  Doc.  ?  " 

"  Cocktail,"  said  that  gentleman,  laconically. 

"  Two  cocktails,"  began  Gerald,  and  then  he  hesi- 
tated. California  hospitality  does  not  wait  for  an 
introduction  to  proffer  liquid  refreshment.  "  What 
will  your  friend  take  ? "  he  added,  with  a  jerk  of 
the  head  toward  the  little  Irishman,  and  in  a  tone 
loud  enough  to  be  overheard  by  the  latter. 

"  Thank  ye ;  I'll  take  a  dhrop  o'  whiskey,"  he 
answered,  sidling  between  the  two.  A  glass  was 


112      AN  OLD  MAN  FROM  THE    OLD   COUNTRY. 

set  out,  and  the  "  dhrop  "  he  took  was  a  fair  sample 
of  his  national  love  for  exaggeration. 

The  Doctor  performed  the  ceremony  of  introduc- 
tion. "Mr.  Ffrench,  Mr.  Quinn."  Such  was  the 
brief  formula. 

Mr.  Quinn  put  forth  an  uninviting  hand — not  too 
clean,  very  thin,  with  large  flat  nails,  and  a  net-work 
of  sinews  and  veins  prominent  below  the  big 
knuckles. 

"  I'm  glad  to  mate  ye,"  was  Mr.  Quinn's  remark. 

"  You  ought  to  know  each  other,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor. "  You're  a  Westmeath  man,  aren't  you,  Mr. 
Quinn  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  am,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  Jerry's  from  Westmeath  too." 

"  What  part  ?  "  The  clannish  instinct  which  is  so 
strong  in  most  Irishmen  was  evidently  well  devel- 
oped here. 

"  Not  a  great  way  from  Athlone,"  answered  young 
Ffrench,  indifferently. 

"  Ay,  but  where — which  side  ?  " 

"Well,  I  don't  exactly  know  how  to  explain," 
said  Gerald,  laughing  good-humoredly.  "  You 
never  heard  of  a  small  village  called  Lasson,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

"  Heerd  of  it  ! "  shouted  Quinn,  apparently  in  a 


AN  OLD  MAN  FROM   THE    OLD   COUNTRY.       113 

state  of  wild  excitement,  "  heerd  of  it !  Wasn't  I 
born  there — wasn't  I — stop,  tell  me — "  In  his  agi- 
tation he  clutched  the  lapel  of  Gerald's  coat  and 
hung  on  to  it,  looking  up  into  his  eyes  with  a 
strange,  beseeching  expression.  "  Tell  me,  are  ye 
anything  to  his  honor  Mr.  Gerald  Ffrench,  o'  the 
Park?" 

"  Only  his  son,  that's  all,"  replied  the  young  man, 
laughing. 

The  effect  of  these  words  on  the  little  Irishman 
was  grotesque  enough.  Dropping  his  hand  from 
Gerald's  coat  he  backed  out  into  the  centre  of  the 
room,  and  there  uncovering,  made  so  deep  a  bow 
that  the  rim  of  his  soft  hat  swept  the  floor.  Gerald 
looked  and  felt  rather  foolish.  He  had  roughed  it 
too  long  in  America  to  appreciate  this  kind  of  hom- 
age, even  if  it  had  met  him  on  his  father's  avenue ; 
and  here,  in  a  San  Francisco  bar-room,  with  Doc. 
Brown  grinning  at  his  elbow  and  Gerraghty  rattling 
among  the  glasses  in  front  of  him,  it  seemed  par- 
ticularly absurd  and  out  of  place.  Yet  what  could 
he  do  ?  The  old  man  was  evidently  sincere  in  his 
hero  worship  and  enjoyed  it  thoroughly. 

Would  the  idiot  keep  on  bowing  and  scraping 
forever  ?  Gerald  felt  that  the  situation  was  becom- 
ing intolerable.  The  awkward  silence  must  be 
8 


114      AN  OLD   MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY. 

broken  by  some  more  direct  means  than  that  sup- 
pressed chuckle  of  the  Doctor. 

"  I  suppose  you  knew  my  father,  if  you  came 
from  Lasson  ?  "  he  said. 

The  old  man  stepped  forward.  There  was  a 
singular  change  in  his  tone,  a  mixture  of  deference 
and  exultation,  as  he  replied  : 

"  Indade  an'  I  did,  sir ;  knew  him  well.  He  was 
me  landlord — no,  that  'u'd  be  yer  grandfather,  rest 
his  sowl !  Yer  dada  was  only  a  boy  when  I  left 
the  ould  counthry.  Maybe  ye  mind  me,  sir,  or  me 
father — ould  Luke  Quinn,  at  the  cross-roads.  But 
sure  how  could  ye  ?  It's  forty  years  since  I  left 
thim  parts." 

Gerald  intimated  that  his  recollections  did  not 
extend  so  far. 

"  An'  why  would  you  ?  Pat"— this  to  Mr.  Ger- 
raghty,  who  still  stood  behind  the  bar — "  let  me  in- 
throjuice  ye  to  Mr.  Ffrench,  o'  Bally vore  Park  ; 
wan  o'  the  raal  ould  stock.  I've  walked  over  ivery 
fut  of  his  property  whin  I  was  a  gossoon,  an*  I'd 
tire  Betty  if  I  druv  her  over  the  half  of  it  in  wan 
day." 

Mr.  Gerraghty  did  not  seem  very  deeply  im- 
pressed, but  guessing  that  another  order  for  drinks 
was  imminent,  he  assumed  a  bland  smile. 


AN  OLD   MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY.       1 15 

"  Ye'll  take  adhrop  o'  something  wid  me  ?  "  And 
without  waiting  for  a  reply  the  old  man  went  on. 
"  The  best  in  the  house,  Pat,  for  Mr.  Ffrench  !  " 

Mr.  Ffrench  found  the  situation  more  and  more 
embarrassing.  He  attempted  to  explain  that  the 
property  in  question  did  not  belong  to  him,  but  to 
his  brother;  but  this  produced  no  sort  of  impres- 
sion on  Quinn. 

"  Sure  it's  all  in  the  family ;  the  raal  thing,  the 
grand  ould  stock  !  Sure  it's  proud  an'  happy  I  am 
to  mate  ye  in  America." 

By  this  time  the  glasses  had  been  set  out  again, 
and  Doctor  Brown,  finding  that  something  tangible 
was  about  to  come  of  the  queer  scene,  had  laid 
aside  his  grin  for  the  present  and  addressed  himself 
to  the  serious  business  before  him.  But  Quinn  in- 
dignantly pushed  the  whiskey-bottle  aside. 

"  Don't  ye  know  no  betther  nor  that,  Pat  Ger- 
raghty  ? — and  one  o'  the  raal  Ffrenches  o'  Ballyvore 
foreninst  yer  bar.  Champagne,  yer  sowl  ye !  " 

And  champagne  it  was,  a  second  bottle  succeed- 
ing the  first,  for  Mr.  Quinn's  hospitality  was  of  the 
absolute  sort  which  takes  no  denial.  Meanwhile 
he  plied  Gerald  with  adulation  and  recounted  so 
many  evidences  of  the  former  grandeur  of  the  family 
that  the  young  fellow  began  to  feel  a  becoming 


Il6      AN  OLD   MAN  FROM  THE    OLD    COUNTRY. 

sense  of  his  importance,  and  to  realize  that  the  pop- 
ulation of  California  in  general,  and  the  editor  of  the 
"Evening  Mail  "  in  particular,  had  not  treated  him 
with  the  consideration  due  to  his  rank  and  station. 
Even  Mr.  Gerraghty,  under  the  influence  of  his  own 
champagne,  thawed  sufficiently  to  admit  that  it  was 
a  fine  thing  to  see  the  aristocracy  travelling  about 
the  world. 

It  needed  a  peremptory  refusal  to  stop  Mr.  Quinn 
at  the  third  bottle.  Doctor  Brown,  whose  eyes 
were  beginning  to  snap  and  sparkle  behind  his 
spectacles,  would  have  offered  no  decided  opposi- 
tion ;  but  the  Doctor  was  of  very  little  account  in 
the  present  company,  and  twinkled  but  feebly,  with 
a  reflected  light,  beside  the  greater  luminary. 

Convinced  at  length  that  he  had  touched  the 
limit  of  Gerald's  conviviality,  the  old  man  produced 
a  buckskin  purse  and  proceeded  to  select  from  a 
goodly  store  of  gold  coins  the  sum  necessary  to  de- 
fray the  cost  of  the  entertainment.  When  he  had 
settled  he  accepted  Gerald's  handshake,  after  a  faint 
show  of  reluctance. 

"  Ye'll  be  here  for  a  few  days,  I  suppose  ? "  he 
said,  clinging  to  the  hand  which,  now  he  held 
it  between  his  own,  he  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  let 


AN   OLD  MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY.       1 1/ 

"  Here  ?  In  San  Francisco  ?  Oh,  yes,  certainly," 
answered  Gerald,  somewhat  surprised. 

"  That's  right,  it's  worth  seein' ;  an'  no  one  can 
show  you  round  any  betther  nor  I  can.  I've  been 
on  the  coast  since  '46,  an'  I  mind  whin  ivery  fut  o' 
these  strates  round  here  was  nothin'  but  sand  an' 
sage  bushes.  Maybe  now,"  he  added,  persuasively, 
"  ye've  nothin'  to  do  to-morrow.  If  ye'll  mate  me 
here  at  eleven,  I'll  have  Betty  out.  Sure  Sunday's  a 
good  day  for  a  dhrive ;  an'  she's  an  illigant  mare  to 
thravel,  though  av  coorse  nothin'  to  what  ye're 
used  to.  Ye  ought  to  .see  the  stables  at  Ballyvore 
Park,  Pat.  Divil  such  a  four  in  hand  iver  was  seen 
in  Westmeath."  And  leaving  Mr.  Quinn  to  enter- 
tain his  host  with  tales  of  the  vanished  glories 
of  Ballyvore,  the  two  friends  went  out.  As  they 
passed  through  the  grocery  they  heard  the  old 
man's  voice  : 

"  Gimme  a  dhrop  o'  whiskey,  Pat.  Champagne's 
cowld  stuff  for  the  stomach." 

Gerald  did  not  fail  to  ask  the  Doctor  for  such  in- 
formation as  he  could  furnish  regarding  this  new 
acquaintance.  It  was  scanty  enough.  Brown  had 
met  him  in  court,  where  Quinn  was  prosecuting  a 
case  against  some  defaulting  tenants.  All  Gerald 
could  learn  was  that  the  old  man  owned  a  great 


Il8      AN  OLD  MAN  FROM   THE    OLD   COUNTRY. 

deal  of  real  estate  in  the  southern  portion  of  the 
city,  and  was  reputed  to  be  very  wealthy. 

The  following  day  Ffrench  found  Quinn  at  the 
hour  and  place  appointed,  and  after  a  "  wee  dhrop" 
— Gerald  won  golden  opinions  from  the  old  man  by 
asserting  that  he  preferred  whiskey  to  champagne — 
Betty  made  her  appearance.  She  was  a  slashing- 
looking  bay  mare,  and  showed  plenty  of  fire  and 
breeding.  Though  the  buggy  was  plain  and  the 
harness  shabby,  she  would  have  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  knowing  ones  in  any  show  or  fair. 
Gerald,  who  had  all  an  Irishman's  love  for  a  good 
horse,  began  to  look  on  Mr.  Quinn  with  more  favor 
and  respect. 

The  drive  was  long  and  pleasant.  Weather 
never  interferes  with  an  excursion  in  California, 
where  a  glance  at  the  calendar,  not  at  the  barome- 
ter, tells  whether  rain  will  fall  or  sun  will  shine  on 
a  given  day.  The  old  fellow  was  amusing,  too,  in 
his  own  way.  He  was  full  of  anecdotes  about  the 
Ireland  of  forty  years  ago.  He  had  left  his  native 
land  at  five  and  twenty,  and  had  not  revisited  it 
since;  nor  had  the  possibility  of  change  entered 
his  head.  He  was  surprised  to  hear  that  Gerald's 
father  had  died  several  years  before,  though  he 
acknowledged,  on  reflection,  that  "  his  honor  would 


AN  OLD  MAN  FROM   THE    OLD   COUNTRY.       119 

be  full  oulder  nor  meself  if  he'd  lived  till  now." 
The  young  people  of  the  present  generation  were, 
of  course,  strangers  to  him.  By  and  by  he  took 
up  a  question  that  had  occasioned  Gerald  some 
surprise  at  their  last  meeting.  » 

"  An'  whin  are  ye  goin'  home,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gerald,  vaguely.  "  I'm 
living  here,  you  know." 

"  Here ! "  The  old  man  bounded  in  his  seat 
from  sheer  amazement,  and  the  spirited  mare  broke 
into  a  wild  gallop  which  it  took  him  some  moments 
to  check.  Then  he  turned  and  looked  at  his  com- 
panion. 

"  I  live  here ;  I'm  working  here ;  I've  been  at  it 
for  three  or  four  years,"  explained  Gerald. 

At  first  the  old  man's  face  expressed  boundless 
astonishment,  but  gradually  a  cunning  look  came 
into  his  little  eyes.  "  Wurruk !  "  he  repeated  ;  "  d'ye 
mind  that  now  ?  Let  me  look  at  yer  hands."  He 
examined  Gerald's  soft  palms.  "Yes;  I  thought 
so.  Sure  ye  don't  expect  me  to  believe  the  like  o' 
that,  sir." 

"  I  don't  work  with  pick  and  shovel,"  said  Gerald, 
rather  indignantly  ;  "  but  I'm  working  for  my  bread 
just  the  same.  I'm  on  the  staff  of  the  "  Evening 
Mail,"  like  Doctor  Brown."  . 


I2O      AN  OLD  MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY. 

"  An'  what  d'ye  do  that  for  ? "  asked  Quinn. 
The  expression  of  bewilderment  on  his  hatchet  face, 
enhanced  by  the  comic  confusion  of  his  wind-blown 
hair  and  whiskers,  was  whimsical.  He  looked  like 
a  terrier  dumfounded.  Gerald  laughed. 

"  I  work  because  I  am  obliged  to.  Ballyvore  be- 
longs to  my  brother,  as  I  told  you  last  night." 

The  extraordinary  fact  that  this  young  fellow 
had  to  earn  his  living  appeared  to  be  beyond  the 
old  man's  power  to  grasp.  "  I  thought  there  was 
money  enough  in  it  for  six  families,"  he  gasped,  at 
length. 

"  There's  mighty  little  money  in  Ireland  nowa- 
days," laughed  Gerald,  lightly ;  "  and  not  much  of 
that  comes  the  landlord's  way." 

"  Get  up,  Betty,"  said  the  old  man  ;  and  half  a 
mile  of  the  dusty  road  was  passed  in  silence.  His 
mind  was  evidently  occupied  with  reminiscences  of 
the  old-time  glories  of  Ballyvore,  for  by  and  by  dis- 
jointed utterances  began  to  escape  him. 

"  Goold,  solid  goold !  I've  seen  it !  Wine  an' 
whiskey,  bottles — no,  but  barrels  of  it.  Four  hun- 
dhred  acres  in  the  domain,  sixteen  horses  in  the 
stable,  silver  an'  goold  plate,  an'  the  estate  runnin' 
over  the  best  o'  two  baronies."  He  started  erect 
in  his  place  with  a  jerk  that  set  Betty  capering  again. 


AN  OLD   MAN  FROM   THE    OLD   COUNTRY.       121 

"  But  sure  ye  must  have  had  some  of  it.  It  ain't 
in  raison." 

This  was  a  sore  subject  with  Gerald.  "  I  had  my 
share,"  he  said,  stiffly,  "and — and  I  spent  it." 

"  I'll  go  bail  ye  did,  like  the  jintleman  ye  are ! 
Get  up,  ould  woman  ! "  Another  long  stretch  of 
road  lay  behind  the  mare's  swift  hoofs  before  Mr. 
Quinn  spoke  again,  and  then  it  was  only  to  ask 
some  trivial  question  about  the  duties  of  a  news- 
paper man.  Gerald  could  not  help  fancying  that 
his  revelations  about  the  Ireland  of  to-day  and  the 
knowledge  of  his  present  employment  had  com- 
bined to  sink  him  several  degrees  in  the  old  man's 
favor.  Not  that  he  cared.  Why  should  he  ? 
Quinn  was  a  character  in  his  way,  and  worth  study- 
ing. He  kept  an  uncommonly  good  trotter,  too ; 
but  he  was  poor  company,  manifestly  ignorant, 
and,tjudging  from  the  place  where  they  had  first  met 
and  the  purpose  of  the  several  halts  they  had  made 
that  day,  probably  a  disreputable  old  drunkard — 
and  certainly  no  fit  companion  for  Gerald  Ffrench. 

Dinner  at  the  Twelve-Mile  House  and  a  rattling 
spin  home  along  the  San  Bruno  Road  finished  the 
day.  They  drove  down  Market  Street  in  the 
gathering  twilight,  and  Mr.  Quinn  pulled  up  be- 
fore Gerraghty's  store. 


122      AN   OLD   MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY. 

"  Does  he  live  here,  I  wonder  ?  "  thought  Gerald, 
as  he  alighted.  "  It  looks  like  it."  Then,  resisting 
all  the  old  man's  entreaties  to  step  inside  and  "  thry 
something  to  lay  the  dust,"  he  set  out  for  the  Cali- 
fornia Theatre,  for  even  Sunday  night  has  its  claims 
on  the  time  of  a  San  Francisco  dramatic  critic. 

Old  Quinn  grasped  his  hand  warmly  at  parting. 
He  had  quite  conquered  his  diffidence  in  that  re- 
spect. "  Look  in  an'  see  me  whenever  ye  do  be 
passin',"  he  said.  "  I  do  be  here  the  most  o'  the 
time  ;  an'  any  day  ye  feel  likehavin'  another  dhrive 
behind  Betty,  why,  only  say  the  wurrud.  It  isn't 
yer  father's  son  that  should  be  ridin'  in  thim  blag- 
gard  street-cars." 

II. 

THE  "  Glorious  Fourth  "  came  and  went,  marked 
by  unwonted  splendor  and  noise  all  over  the  Union, 
and  underscored  with  black  in  the  private  annals  of 
Doctor  Brown,  who  was  called  upon  to  surrender 
his  desk  at  the  "Evening  Mail."  That  gentleman's 
turn  for  conviviality  and  his  talent  for  chronic  fault- 
finding had  combined  to  embroil  him  with  the 
managing  editor,  and  he  had  received  an  intimation 
that  his  resignation  would  be  in  order.  Brown  had 
never  saved  a  cent  in  his  life,  and  Gerald  realized 


AN  OLD  MAN  FROM   THE    OLD   COUNTRY.      12$ 

with  some  misgivings  that  his  forty  dollars  a  week 
would  for  the  present  be  called  upon  to  support  two 
instead  of  one.  He  was  walking  down  Third  Street 
on  the  following  evening,  in  a  somewhat  despondent 
frame  of  mind,  when  he  was  loudly  called  by  name 
from  the  door  of  Mr.  Gerraghty's  grocery. 

Old  Quinn  had  evidently  been  celebrating  the 
birthday  of  his  adopted  country  after  his  own  fash- 
ion, and  he  had  not  done  celebrating  yet.  His 
small  eyes  were  ablaze  with  excitement,  his  shirt 
was  rumpled,  his  attire  otherwise  in  disorder,  and 
his  "  Misther  Ffrench,  Misther  Ffrench  !  "  sounded 
hoarse  and  strident. 

Gerald  would  willingly  have  passed  on,  but 
this  was  not  to  be.  The  little  man  haled  him  into 
the  group  that  surrounded  the  door  of  the  grocery, 
and  proceeded  to  introduce  him  by  name  to  every 
member  of  the  party,  with  a  running  commen- 
tary on  the  splendors  of  Ballyvore  and  an  enthu- 
siastic indorsement  of  the  young  fellow  himself  as 
"  wan  o'  the  raal  ould  stock." 

This  was  a  disagreeable  experience.  The  old 
man  was  undeniably  the  worse  for  liquor  ;  most 
likely,  as  he  had  abundant  leisure  and  more  money 
than  he  knew  what  to  do  with,  drunkenness  was 
his  normal  condition.  Gerald  extricated  himself 


124      ANT  OLD   MAN  FROM  THE    OLD    COUNTRY. 

with  some  difficulty  from  these  maudlin  attentions, 
and  continued  on  his  way.  Clearly  Mr.  Quinn  was 
not  an  acquaintance  to  be  cultivated. 

Yet  it  was  difficult  to  avoid  meeting  him.  Ger- 
ald lived  in  Howard  Street,  and  naturally  had  to 
pass  Gerraghty's  door  at  least  twice  a  day,  and 
Gerraghty's  was  evidently  the  old  man's  head- 
quarters. Sometimes  he  would  be  in  the  saloon, 
sometimes  in  front  of  the  grocery  ;  but,  as  he 
had  said  himself,  he  was  there  "  most  o'  the 
time."  In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  he  had 
fully  digested  the  idea  of  Mr.  Ffrench's  servile 
position — for  so  he  evidently  considered  it — and 
set  himself  with  a  faithful  persistence  that  was 
almost  touching  to  lighten  its  burdens  by  every 
means  in  his  power.  Unlimited  liquor  appeared  to 
the  old  fellow  the  simplest  and  most  direct  allevia- 
tion ;  and  as  Gerald  could  not  always  fence  success- 
fully with  such  persistent  hospitality  he  soon  found 
himself  drinking  more  than  was  good  for  him. 
Loans  of  money  were  frequently  proffered,  in  sums 
ranging  from  five  to  one  hundred  dollars,  but  these 
Gerald  invariably  declined.  Finally  one  day — it 
was  the  1st  of  August,  and  an  appointment  had 
been  made  in  which  Betty  was  involved — the  old 
man's  liberality  took  a  flight  as  magnificent  as  it 


AN    OLD   MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY.      12$ 

was  unexpected.  Gerald  found  him,  as  had  been 
arranged,  in  Gerraghty's  saloon.  He  was  por- 
ing over  a  morning  paper,  but  looked  up  as  the 
young  fellow  entered.  "  I  was  gettin'  the  news," 
he  said,  with  an  odd  expression,  half  of  doubt,  half 
of  bravado,  the  significance  of  which  Gerald  did 
not  at  the  moment  understand. 

"  Have  you  ?  There's  not  much  in  the  papers 
to-day,"  he  answered. 

"  There  is  not.  You've  read  them,  I  suppose  ? " 
inquired  Quinn. 

"  Yes,  I  looked  them  over  at  breakfast." 

"  An'  now  what  sthruck  ye  in  them  ?  What 
was  the  biggest  bit  of  news  ye  could  find  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Gerald,  laughing.  "  Did  you 
find  any  ?  " 

"  Divil  a  wurrud,"  answered  Quinn  with  a  sigh. 

This  kind  of  colloquy  was  not  unusual.  The  old 
man  seemed  to  be  an  attentive  reader  of  the  papers, 
and  he  rarely  met  Gerald  without  asking  him  his 
opinion  on  the  news  of  the  day. 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  never  find  much  news,  Mr. 
Quinn,"  remarked  Ffrench. 

"What's  the  raison  I  don't  ?  Sorra  much  has 
happened  this  twenty  years  that  I  can't  tell  ye." 
The  old  man  spoke  rather  warmly  and  seemed 


126      AN  OLD   MAN  FROM   THE   OLD    COUNTRY. 

hurt  and  indignant.  After  a  few  minutes  he  went 
out  to  fetch  the  buggy,  and  Gerald  turned  to  Ger- 
raghty,  who  occupied  his  usual  place  behind  the 
bar. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  Mr.  Quinn  ?  He 
seems  out  of  sorts  this  morning." 

Gerraghty  had  a  friendly  feeling  for  Gerald,  in 
whom  he  recognized  a  source  of  profit  only  to  be 
gauged  by  the  young  man's  capacity  for  liquids. 
Before  answering  he  peeped  round  the  bar  to  as- 
sure himself  that  Quinn  was  out  of  ear-shot. 

"  The  ould  fellow  can't  read,"  he  said  with  a  grin. 

"  Can't  read  !  "  repeated  Gerald,  profoundly  as- 
tonished. "  Why,  I  see  him  reading  the  paper 
every  day." 

"  Ye  see  him  houlding  it ;  but  divil  a  line  of  it 
can  he  spell.  He  can't  neither  read  nor  write  ;  an' 
when  he  has  business  at  the  Hibernia  Bank  he  has 
it  fixed  so  that  they  let  him  in  ten  minutes  before 
the  doors  are  opened,  so  that  no  one  won't  see  him 
make  his  mark.  Oh  !  he's  quare." 

"  But  what  does  he  take  the  papers  for  ?  "  asked 
Gerald,  to  whom  this  revelation  was  almost  incred- 
ible. 

"  So  as  to  fool  you  an'  others  like  you.  Oh,  he's 
cute  ;  but  ivery  wan  who  knows  him  well  sees  how 


AN  OLD  MAN  FROM  THE    OLD   COUNTRY.      I2/ 

it  is.  No  one  dar'  hint  as  much  to  him  though. 
Whisht  !  here  he's  comin'."  And  Quinn  entered. 

His  ill  humor  had  already  evaporated  and  they 
started  in  good  spirits.  This  time  their  course  lay 
among  the  small  residence  streets  which  abound  in 
that  neighborhood.  It  was  the  first  of  the  month, 
and  the  old  man  was  out  collecting  his  rents.  He 
visited  a  number  of  the  little  frame  houses  which 
are  crowded  together  in  that  populous  quarter  and 
returned  from  each  with  a  double  handful  of  silver. 
A  large  bag  which  lay  under  the  seat  of  the  wagon 
grew  rapidly  in  bulk  and  weight  as  the  day  ad- 
vanced. It  was  plain  that  the  old  fellow's  wealth 
was  no  fable. 

"  How  much  are  you  worth,  Mr.  Quinn  ?  "  asked 
Gerald,  in  a  moment  of  pardonable  curiosity. 

The  old  fellow  leered  at  him  with  a  cunning  ex- 
pression. "  I'll  tell  ye,"  he  said,  "  for  maybe  ye'll 
need  to  know  wan  o'  these  days.  A  little  over  a 
quarter  of  a  million."  Gerald  gasped.  He  knew 
Quinn  was  well  to  do,  but  had  never  imagined  that 
his  means  approached  such  a  figure.  The  other 
noted  his  astonishment  with  evident  satisfaction. 

"  I  suppose  you  must  have  struck  it  rich  in  the 
diggings  in  the  old  days  ?  "  Ffrench  remarked  by 
way  of  saying  something. 


128      AN  OLD  MAN  FROM  THE    OLD   COUNTRY. 

"  I  never  struck  a  pick  in  the  ground  in  Californy, 
an'  I  w'u'dn't  know  the  color  if  I  seen  it,"  said 
Quinn.  Then  he  closed  his  left  eye,  and  laid  his 
head  on  one  side  like  a  disreputable  but  preternatu- 
rally  wise  old  magpie.  "  What's  the  use  o'  goold  ? 
Ye  can  spind  that,  but  ye  can't  spind  land.  When 
I  come  here  all  this  was  sand-hills.  I  bought  it  by 
the  acre,  and  I've  sowld  a  good  share  of  it  by  the 
fut.  There's  nothin'  like  land,"  he  ejaculated  with 
a  fervor  that  was  almost  pious  in  its  intensity.  "  See 
here,  Masther  Gerald!  Is  yer  brother  married  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Gerald,  not  a  little  surprised  by 
the  sudden  question.  "  Why  ?  " 

"  It's  a  sin  an'  a  shame,  sir,  that  you  should  be 
wastin'  yer  life  here  among  a  lot  of  rayporthers  not 
fit  to  black  the  boots  o'  the  likes  o'  ye.  It's  home 
ye  ought  to  be,  an'  livin'  like  a  jintleman." 

"On  what  would  I  live  like  a  gentleman  if  I 
were  at  home,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  "  inquired  Gerald, 
laughing. 

"  Och,  if  that's  all,  yer  honor,  ye  can  have  five 
thousand  dollars  to-morrow — ten,  if  five  isn't 
enough  ;  an'  more  whin  that's  done.  Go  home, 
yer  sowl  ye,  an'  go  into  Parleymint— ye've  the 
brains  to  do  it ;  an'  if  it's  only  money's  wantin', 
come  to  ould  Luke  Quinn." 


AN  OLD  MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY.      1 29 

There  was  no  mistaking  this  offer.  It  was  made 
in  sober  earnest,  and  the  old  man's  sincerity  was 
unquestionable.  It  was  difficult  for  Gerald  to  make 
him  understand  the  impossibility  of  such  a  scheme, 
but  he  did  comprehend  that  his  generous  proposal 
was  not  accepted  ;  and  the  refusal  seemed  to  cut 
him  to  the  heart.  Despite  all  the  efforts  of  the 
younger  man,  the  drive  was  finished  in  silence. 

That  day  Gerald  wrote  to  his  sister  and  asked 
her  to  find  out  what  she  could  about  a  family  named 
Quinn,  who  had  lived  near  Lasson  in  his  grand- 
father's time,  and  had  been  tenants  on  the  estate. 
He  also  attempted  a  little  missionary  work  with  the 
old  man,  and  tried  to  get  him  away  from  Gerraghty's 
saloon  and  its  unfailing  rounds  of  drinks.  Old 
Quinn's  health  was  far  from  robust,  and  the  young 
man  could  not  help  noticing  the  growing  effects  of 
this  incessant  dissipation.  His  success  was  not  con- 
spicuous; but  he  fancied  he  was  of  some  service, 
and  the  old  man  took  the  interference  in  good  part. 
This  and  the  remembrance  of  Quinn's  hearty,  disin- 
terested generosity  combined  to  raise  him  consider- 
ably in  Mr.  Ffrench's  estimation. 

It  was  not  till  near  the  end  of  August  that  Doctor 
Brown  heard  of  a  fresh  opening  for  his  talents.  He 
was  offered  a  place  on  the  "  Sacramento  Union," 
9 


I3O      AN   OLD   MAN  FROM    rFHE    OLD    COUNTRY. 

and  he  was  to  start  at  once.  But  here  a  difficulty 
presented  itself.  It  would  require  about  twenty  dol- 
lars to  settle  up  various  little  matters  and  pay  the 
fare.  Gerald,  who  had  been  supporting  both  himself 
and  his  friend  for  nearly  two  months,  had  no  cash  on 
hand  and  none  to  hope  for  till  salary  day.  The 
Doctor  had  made  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  borrow, 
and  now  it  seemed  as  if  the  poor  fellow  must  lose  a 
good  chance  for  want  of  a  paltry  twenty  dollars. 
Gerald  determined  to  put  his  dignity  by  and  ask 
Quinn  for  the  money. 

He  found  the  old  man  in  Gerraghty's  and  prompt 
to  accommodate  him.  "  Twinty,  is  it  ?  "  he  said— 
"  no,  but  fifty.  Come  wid  me,  an'  I'll  get  it  for  ye 
at  wanst."  This  rather  surprised  Gerald,  who  knew 
that  Quinn  habitually  carried  large  sums  about  him. 
However  he  accompanied  the  old  fellow,  assuming 
that  he  would  take  him  to  the  Hibernia  Bank, 
where  he  kept  an  account.  Not  so,  however.  They 
crossed  Third  Street,  and  proceeded  along  one  of 
the  narrow  thoroughfares  in  which  Mr.  Quinn's 
house  property  lay. 

He  was  in  high  good  humor.  The  question  of 
the  loan  had  brought  up  the  subject  of  money,  al- 
ways a  favorite  topic  with  a  man  who  has  plenty. 
He  narrated  how  many  appeals  were  almost  daily 


AN   OLD   MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY.       131 

made  on  his  purse,  and  explained  with  a  crafty  leer 
how  he  avoided  them. 

"  Only  yisterday,"  he  said,  "  that  fellow  wid  the 
specs — the  Docther,  ye  call  him — wanted  to  sthrike 
me  for  twinty.  D'  ye  think  he  got  it  ?  Not  much. 
I've  no  money  for  the  likes  o'  him."  Gerald,  who 
had  several  times  been  on  the  point  of  explaining 
that  the  loan  he  solicited  was  for  the  Doctor's  use, 
congratulated  himself  that  he  had  not  spoken. 

"Not  but  what  he  has  a  great  rispict  forme," 
pursued  Quinn.  "  They  do  all  have  the  hoight  o' 
rispict  for  me  round  these  parts.  When  I  towld 
the  Docther  that  money  was  tight  an'  I  c'u'dn't 
raise  the  like,  sez  he,  '  Quinn,  ye're  an  ould  misan- 
thrope,' sez  he.  I  mind  the  wurrud  well,  for  I  med 
him  say  it  over  two  or  three  times ;  "  and  the  old 
fellow  grinned  in  his  appreciation  of  this  peculiar 
compliment. 

By  this  time  they  were  in  Jessie  Street. 

"  Be  aisy  now,"  said  Quinn,  "  I'll  bring  ye  the 
money  in  two  shakes  of  a  mare's  tail."  And  he  ran 
nimbly  up  the  steps  of  one  of  the  frame  houses 
which  owned  him  as  lord. 

He  returned  presently,  evidently  greatly  chagrined 
and  discomfited.  *£  W'u'd  ye  belave  it,"  he  exclaimed 
angrily;  "here  it  is  within  two  days  o'  the  first  o' 


132      AN   OLD   MAN  FROM    THE    OLD   COUNTRY. 

the  month,  an'  the  dhirty  mane  spalpeen  won't 
gimme  a  thrifle  of  a  few  dollars  in  advance  o'  the 
rint  that  '11  be  due  the  day  afther  to-morrow." 

Gerald  hastened  to  assure  him  that  if  he  had  not 
the  money  by  him  it  was  no  manner  of  consequence, 
that  he  had  no  intention  of  occasioning  his  kind 
friend  any  inconvenience,  and  much  more  in  the 
same  strain,  but  the  old  man  cut  him  short  by  run- 
ning up  the  steps  of  another  house.  The  same  re- 
sult followed ;  and  it  was  not  till  he  had  failed  in 
four  several  attempts  to  borrow  the  amount  among 
his  tenants  that  he  drew  the  faded  buckskin  purse 
from  his  pocket,  and,  pouring  a  mingled  mass  of 
gold  and  silver  into  his  shaking  hand,  entreated 
Gerald  to  take  whatever  he  required.  Gerald 
selected  a  twenty-dollar  piece,  thanked  him,  and 
withdrew,  much  marvelling  at  the  old  man's  busi- 
ness methods. 


III. 


THIS  oddly  assorted  friendship  continued  with- 
out interruption  throughout  the  winter  of  1876.  A 
quarrel  had  nearly  arisen  when  Gerald  after  a  few 
weeks  brought  back  the  twenty  dollars  and  at- 
tempted to  return  it.  The  old  man  seemed  so 


AN  OLD  MAN  FROM   THE    OLD   COUNTRY.      133 

sincerely  hurt  and  grieved  that  Gerald  relented  and 
pocketed  his  pride  and  his  gold-piece  together,  pre- 
ferring to  remain  under  an  obligation  which,  after 
all,  he  could  not  cancel,  rather  than  wound  Quinn 
in  what  was  seemingly  the  only  sensitive  point  of 
his  nature.  Emboldened  by  this  triumph,  the  old 
man  recurred  to  his  favorite  scheme  of  "  making  a 
jintleman  o'  Masther  Gerald  ; "  but  here  the  young 
man  was  immovable,  and  the  other  discontinued 
his  persuasions  with  a  sigh  that  "  the  likes  o'  him 
should  have  to  wurruk." 

In  due  course  Gerald  received  an  answer  from  his 
sister.  After  the  usual  quota  of  home  gossip  and 
news,  he  came  upon  this  paragraph  : 

"  There  are  no  Quinns  on  the  place  now.  There 
was  a  family  on  the  Athlone  side  of  Lasson,  but 
they  were  cleared  out  in  grandpapa's  time.  Mr. 
Brooke  remembers  them  well,  though,  and  speaks 
of  old  Luke  Quinn  as  the  worst  tenant,  and  most 
inveterate  poacher  on  the  property.  The  son  was  a 
worse  scamp  than  the  father,  and  went  to  America. 
Mr.  Brooke  says  he  must  be  quite  an  elderly  man 
if  he  hasn't  been  hanged.  The  old  man  gave  no 
end  of  trouble  to  grandpapa,  who  was  finally  com- 
pelled to  take  up  the  farm.  Mr.  Brooke  thinks 
that  old  Quinn  was  transported  afterward,  but  he 
isn't  sure.  What  on  earth  do  you  want  with  all 


134      AN-   OLD  MAN-  FROM    THE    OLD    COUNTRY. 

this   queer  Old  World  history  ?     Are  you  going  to 
write  a  book  ?  " 

And  so  the  letter  branched  out  to  other  topics. 

Undoubtedly  the  wealthy  Mr.  Quinn  of  San  Fran- 
cisco was  no  other  than  the  scapegrace  son  of  a 
worthless  father,  and  the  respectable  agent  of  Bally- 
vore  seemed  to  think  that  if  he  was  still  alive  it  was 
only  because  the  hangman  had  neglected  his  oppor- 
tunities. "  It's  a  strange  world,"  reflected  Gerald  ; 
"  but  whatever  he  may  have  been  before  I  was  born, 
he  has  loyalty  to  the  old  name  now,  and  a  soft  spot 
in  his  heart  for  the  old  country." 

Mr.  Ffrench  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  had 
learned  to  like  the  old  man  before  the  last  clouds 
had  rolled  away  from  the  spring  of  1877.  The  mixt- 
ure of  shrewdness  and  simplicity ;  the  transparent 
pretence  of  education,  at  which  he  had  long  ceased 
to  smile;  above  all,  the  evident  pride  and  delight 
which  Quinn  took  in  his  society — all  appealed 
strongly  to  the  warmer  side  of  his  nature.  The  old 
man  still  introduced  him  to  his  friends  as  "  wan  o' 
the  raal  ould  stock,"  and  prosed  away  in  his  cups 
about  the  splendors  of  Ballyvore;  but  the  cadet  of 
that  ancient  house  was  growing  accustomed  to  this. 
The  two  drove  together  every  Sunday,  saw  each 
other  at  least  once  every  day,  and  patronized  Ger- 


AN  OLD   MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY.       135 

raghty  at  frequent  intervals,  to  the  entire  satisfac- 
tion of  that  enterprising  grocer. 

One  day — it  was  early  in  June — Gerald,  on  his 
way  home,  missed  the  familiar  figure  from  the  door 
of  the  grocery.  He  gave  the  matter  little  thought 
at  the  moment,  but  when  another  day  passed  with- 
out his  seeing  Quinn,  he  stepped  into  the  store  to 
inquire. 

Poor  old  man  !  He  had  met  with  an  accident  on 
the  road  the  previous  day — had  been  thrown  from 
his  buggy  and  picked  up  insensible.  Gerraghty  did 
not  know  whether  he  had  a  "  load  "  at  the  time,  but 
opined  that  he  had.  Anyhow,  he  was  in  a  bad  way. 
The  saloon-keeper  spoke  feelingly,  as  one  who  de- 
plored the  possible  loss  of  his  best  customer,  and 
Gerald  became  seriously  uneasy.  He  would  go  and 
see  Quinn  at  once.  Gerraghty  furnished  the  ad- 
dress, and  advised  him  to  carry  a  bottle  of  whiskey 
to  the  patient ;  but  this  he  declined. 

As  he  walked  toward  Mission  Street  he  remem- 
bered with  some  surprise  that  he  had  never  yet 
visited  Quinn  in  his  own  home.  He  did  not  even 
know  whether  the  old  fellow  was  married  or  single, 
though  negative  evidence  naturally  inclined  him  to 
the  latter  vjew.  They  had  always  met  in  the  street 
or  in  Gerraghty's  store,  which  was  odd  considering 


136      AN  OLD   MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY. 

how  closely  the  bonds  of  their  strange  intimacy  had 
been  drawn  in  the  past  year.  But  here  was  the 
number,  only  a  few  doors  up  Mission  Street,  and  his 
hand  was  on  the  bell.  It  was  answered  by  a  civil- 
spoken  Irishwoman,  who,  in  reply  to  his  inquiry, 
showed  him  into  a  room  on  the  ground  floor.  As 
he  entered,  a  Mr.  Conley,  a  lawyer  with  whom  he 
had  some  slight  acquaintance,  passed  out.  Gerald 
was  surprised  at  the  warmth  with  which  this  gentle- 
man shook  his  hand,  and  he  fancied  he  caught  the 
words  "  lucky  fellow"  in  the  whispered  greeting;  but 
he  had  no  time  to  speculate  on  their  application. 
Poor  old  Quinn  lay  on  the  bed — a  cheap,  uncom- 
fortable-looking bed,  quite  in  character  with  the  ill- 
furnished,  cheerless  room.  He  looked  thin  and 
shrunken  under  the  coverlet,  and  very  weak.  A 
stranger,  evidently  a  physician,  turned  from  the  bed- 
side as  Gerald  entered,  but  the  old  man  beckoned 
him  back  and  feebly  extended  his  hand  toward  his 
visitor. 

"  Docther,"  said  he  in  a  faint,  hoarse  whisper,  "  I 
want  to  inthrojuice  ye.  This  is  me  fri'nd," — there 
was  an  emphasis  of  indescribable  pride  about  this 
word,  and  he  repeated  it — "  me  fr'ind  Mr.  Ffrench 
o'  Ballyvore  Park.  Wan  o'  the  raal  ould  stock,  sir, 
an'  the  grandest  in  the  barony." 


AN  OLD  MAN  FROM  THE    OLD   COUNTRY,       137 

"  Oh,  hush,  hush,  Quinn  ! "  cried  Gerald,  deeply 
shocked.  The  old  man's  adulation  seemed  to  him 
ghastly  and  unnatural  at  such  a  time.  The  doctor 
acknowledged  the  introduction  by  a  curt  nod,  and 
taking  up  his  hat  and  gloves  moved  toward  the  door. 
"You  mustn't  try  to  talk  much,  Mr.  Quinn;  I'll 
look  in  again  in  a  couple  of  hours,"  he  said,  and 
went  out. 

"  How  did  this  happen  ?"  asked  Gerald,  drawing 
a  chair  to  the  bedside  and  taking  the  thin  old  hand 
in  his  own ;  "  and  why  didn't  you  send  to  let  me 
know  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  poor  place  to  bring  you  to,  Masther 
Gerald,  an'  I  didn't  like  ;  but  sure  I'm  glad  to  see 
you  now  you  are  in  it." 

"  But  why  should  a  man  of  your  means  live  like 
this  ?  "  The  question  leaped  to  Gerald's  lips,  but 
remained  unspoken.  As  he  looked  he  realized  that 
it  mattered  little  where  the  old  man  should  live — 
or  die — now. 

"  An  illigant  place  entirely,"  muttered  old  Quinn, 
"  and  he  come  to  see  me  !  Ah,  Masther  Gerald,  it's 
aisy  seem'  you're  wan  o'  the  raal  ould  stock." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  began  again. 
"  Arrah,  bad  cess  to  ye,  Betty ;  wasn't  trottin'  good 
enough  for  ye,  but  ye  must  turn  to  an'  kick  the 


138      AN  OLD  MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY, 

wagon  over?  "  Another  pause.  "  Masther  Gerald, 
Masther  Gerald,  avick  !  " 

"  What  is  it,  Quinn  ?  " 

"  I  had  Counsellor  Conley  here  just  now  doin' 
some  writin'  for  me.  I  write  an  illigant  hand,  but 
I'm  wake  wid  this  thrubble." 

"  I  saw  him,  Quinn.     What  about  it  ?  " 

"  We  didn't  get  to  finish.  Rache  me  it  there, 
av  ye  plaze.  See  it  beyant  ?  " 

Gerald  found  a  large  legal-looking  sheet  of  paper 
lying  on  the  table  among  cigar-butts  and  broken 
glasses.  He  handed  it  to  the  old  man. 

"  Yer  honor  can  finish  it  for  me,  as  well  as  an- 
other. All  it  wants  is  me  name.  Write  it  down 
at  the  ind." 

The  first  line  of  the  document,  boldly  engrossed 
in  large  letters,  caught  Gerald's  eye.  He  read  it 
at  a  glance  :  "  Last  will  and  testament  of  Luke 
Quinn."  He  stared  aghast. 

"  Sign  your  name  ? "  said  the  young  man.  "  I 
can't  do  that." 

"  An'  why  not,  whin  I  give  ye  1'ave  ?  Sure 
who'll  be  a  haporth  the  wiser  ? '' 

"  I  can  write  it,  but  we  must  have  witnesses ; 
and  you  must  touch  the  pen  and  say  over  some 
form,  which  I  have  forgotten." 


AN  OLD   MAN  FROM  THE    OLD   COUNTRY.       139 

"  Och,  what's  the  use  of  all  that  botheration  ? 
The  lawyer  would  ha'  finished  it  for  me,  only  I  was 
wake  and  c'u'dn't  go  on.  Whisper,  Masther  Ger- 
ald, avick.  Write  '  Luke  Quinn  '  at  the  bottom  o' 
that,  an'  it'll  be  the  betther  for  ye." 

"  But  indeed,  Quinn,  it  would  be  impossible," 
said  Gerald,  sorely  put  out  by  the  old  man's  help- 
less pleading.  "  It  would  mean  no  more  than  if  it 
had  never  been  written,  and  would  only  get  me 
into  trouble." 

"  Who's  to  know  ?  "  urged  Quinn.  "  Whisper 
till  I  tell  ye — no  one  will  misthrust  but  I  wrote  it 
meself ;  no  one  knows  me  hand,  an'  me  writin's 
the  very  moral  o'  yer  own  anyway  :  ye  cVd  make 
twins  o'  thim." 

Gerald  could  hardly  repress  a  smile.  The  old 
man  continued  to  urge  and  entreat,  but,  as  may  be 
imagined,  without  result.  Finally  he  said :  "  Put 
it  back  thin ;  I'll  1'ave  it  till  to-morrow.  Maybe 
I'll  be  well  enough  to  do  it  meself  by  that  time.  I 
won't  kape  ye  here  any  longer,  Masther  Gerald.  I 
think  I  c'u'd  doze  a  bit." 

Gerald  withdrew,  promising  to  look  in  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning ;  and,  having  ascertained  from 
the  woman  of  the  house  that  Mr.  Quinn  was  in 
good  hands,  returned  home.  He  could  not  help 


140     AN  OLD  MAN  FROM  THE    OLD   COUNTRY. 

laughing  at  the  old  man's  attempt  to  sign  his  will 
by  proxy,  but  he  was  uneasy  and  anxious  never- 
theless. 

The  same  evening  Mr.  Conley  called  upon  him 
and  told  him  that  his  old  friend  had  died  in  his 
sleep,  probably  about  an  hour  after  Gerald  had  left 
the  bedside.  "And  do  you  know,"  added  the 
lawyer,  "you  came  as  near  inheriting  three  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  as  a  man  can  come  and  not 
get  it?" 

"  How  was  that  ? "  asked  Gerald,  listlessly. 
The  news  of  Quinn's  death,  though  not  unex- 
pected, had  come  upon  him  with  the  suddenness 
of  a  shock,  and  affected  him  deeply. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Conley.  "  It  must  be 
six  months  ago  that  Quinn  instructed  me  to  draw 
up  his  will.  He  left  you  everything,  but  from  that 
day  to  this  he  never  would  sign  it." 

"  Why  not?"  asked  Gerald.  He  readily  guessed 
the  cause,  but  he  was  determined  to  keep  the  old 
man's  secret. 

"  Sometimes  one  reason,  sometimes  another. 
When  he  met  with  this  accident  he  sent  for  me 
post-haste  to  bring  the  will.  Did  he  sign  ?  Not  a 
bit  of  it.  He  was  too  weak,  he  said.  I  offered  to 
call  in  witnesses  and  fill  in  the  signatures  in  his 


AN  OLD  MAN  FROM   THE    OLD    COUNTRY.      141 

presence  in  the  usual  way.  He  became  bitterly  in- 
dignant. *  What,  make  me  mark!'  he  said.  'I 
never  did  that  in  me  life,  and  I  won't  begin  now.' 
I  was  just  leaving  when  you  came  in." 

"  Where  will  his  money  go  ?  "  asked  Gerald. 

"  Oh,  to  his  relatives  in  Ireland,  I  suppose,"  said 
the  lawyer.  "  That  kind  of  man  always  has 
plenty." 

The  following  Sunday  there  was  a  big  funeral — 
an  Irish  funeral,  with  scores  of  carriages  and  un- 
limited whiskey.  Gerald  Ffrench  attended,  and  so 
did  Mr.  Gerraghty — Doctor  Brown  was  in  Sacra- 
mento. Gerald's  eyes  were  a  little  misty  as  the 
earth  fell  on  the  coffin — a  very  handsome  coffin 
with  a  silver  plate.  The  old  man  had  grown  on 
him  wonderfully,  and  he  missed  him  more  than  he 
could  have  believed  possible. 

The  contest  over  Luke  Quinn's  property  is  going 
on  still  in  the  California  courts.  Every  Quinn  in 
the  State  is  represented  by  counsel,  but  flowers  are 
not  often  seen  on  the  old  man's  grave.  It  is  only 
occasionally  that  Gerald  Ffrench's  Sunday  stroll 
takes  him  in  the  direction  of  Lone  Mountain. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS, 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS. 


i. 

"  NOT  another  step,  Dr.  Lynn,"  said  Gerald 
Ffrench,  stopping  the  old  gentleman  at  the  little 
gate  in  the  hedge  which  divided  the  Rectory  lawn 
from  the  churchyard,  "  I  won't  have  you  coming  any 
farther." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  returned  the  rector  with  a  kindly 
smile, "  I  am  still  in  my  own  domain  and  I  won't  be 
dictated  to.  Besides,  the  little  walk  will  do  me  good. 
I  shall  see  you  at  least  as  far  as  the  lower  road." 

The  gate  swung  behind  them  and  they  threaded 
the  narrow  path  among  the  grave-stones.  It  was 
an  obscure  little  country  burying-ground  and  very 
ancient.  The  grass  sprang  luxuriant  from  the  mol- 
dering  dust  of  three  hundred  years,  for  so  long  at 
least  had  these  few  acres  been  consecrated  to  their 
present  purpose.  Gerald  stopped  once  or  twice  to 
decipher,  as  far  as  the  failing  light  of  the  January 

10 


146  7WE    LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

afternoon  would  permit,  the  inscription  on  a  stone 
near  the  path. 

"  You  won't  find  many  new-comers/'  observed 
the  rector.  "  A  few  of  course :  the  years  must 
bring  their  changes,  and  you  have  been  away — let 
me  see " 

"  Six  years,"  said  Gerald,  with  a  half  sigh,  as  he 
recalled  the  hopes  that  had  withered,  the  ambitions 
that  had  faded,  the  pleasures  that  had  vanished,  and 
the  residuum  that  had  lingered  from  six  years  of  ac- 
tive, breathing  life.  And  yet  he  was  only  twenty- 
seven. 

At  twenty-one  he  had  left  the  home-nest,  behind 
those  trees  which  broke  the  horizon  line  in  the  north. 
His  wanderings  had  led  him  far  afield.  He  had  fall- 
en into  the  whirring  machinery  of  life,  and  the  ma- 
chinery had  jarred  and  hurt  him.  Now  he  had  come 
home  for  a  few  weeks  of  rest  and  pleasure.  He 
knew  it  could  not  be  for  long,  for  he  had,  with  in- 
finite pains  and  labor,  carved  for  himself  a  little 
niche  in  the  world's  great  gallery,  and  he  could 
not  afford  to  leave  it  empty.  In  other  words,  he 
was  a  young  journalist,  holding  a  good  position  on 
a  San  Francisco  daily  paper,  and  he  was  enjoying 
what  was  left  of  a  three  months'  vacation  in  Ire- 
land. And  three  weeks  of  that  scanty  remainder 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS.  147 

would  be  consumed  in  travelling  back  to  his  duty. 
All  these  reflections  entered  into  the  young  man's 
sigh  and  gave  it  a  touch  of  pathos. 

"  Well,  I  won't  go  any  farther,"  said  Dr.  Lynn, 
halting  at  the  boundary  wall,  spanned  by  a  ladder- 
like  flight  of  wooden  steps  which  connected  the 
churchyard  with  the  little  by-road.  "  I'll  say  good 
evening,  Gerald,  and  assure  you  I  appreciate  your 
kindness  in  coming  over  to  spend  a  long  day  with 
a  stupid  old  man." 

"  I  would  not  hear  thine  enemy  say  that,"  quoted 
Gerald  with  a  light  laugh.  "  I  hope  to  spend 
many  another  day  as  pleasantly  before  I  turn  my 
back  on  old  Ireland."  He  ran  up  the  steps  as  he 
spoke,  and  stood  on  the  top  of  the  wall  looking 
back  to  wave  a  last  greeting  before  he  descended. 
Suddenly  he  stopped. 

"  What's  that  ? ''  he  asked,  pointing  down  among 
the  graves. 

The  rector  turned,  but  the  tall  grass  and  taller 
nettles  concealed  from  him  the  object,  whatever  it 
might  be,  which  Gerald  had  seen  from  his  tem- 
porary elevation. 

"  It  looks  like  a  coffin ;"  and  coming  rapidly 
down  again  the  young  man  pushed  his  way  through 
the  rank  growth.  The  clergyman  followed. 


148  THE  LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

In  a  little  depression  between  the  mounds  of 
two  graves  lay  a  plain  coffin  of  stained  wood.  It 
was  closed,  and  an  attempt  to  move  it  showed  that 
it  was  not  empty.  A  nearer  inspection  revealed 
that  the  lid  was  not  screwed  down  in  the  usual 
manner,  but  hastily  fastened  with  nails.  Dr.  Lynn 
and  Gerald  looked  at  each  other.  There  was 
something  mysterious  in  the  presence  of  this  coffin 
above  ground. 

"  Has  there  been  a  funeral — interrupted — or  any- 
thing of  that  kind  ?  "  asked  Gerald. 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  wish  Bolan  were  here. 
He  might  have  something  to  say  about  it." 

Bolan  was  the  sexton.  Gerald  knew  where  he 
lived  —  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  spot  —  and 
volunteered  to  fetch  him.  Dr.  Lynn  looked  all 
over  the  sinister  black  box,  but  no  plate  or  mark  of 
any  kind  rewarded  his  search.  Meanwhile  young 
Ffrench  sped  along  the  lower  road  to  Bolan's 
house. 

The  sexton  was  in,  just  preparing  for  a  smoke  in 
company  with  the  local  blacksmith,  when  Gerald 
entered  with  the  news  of  the  uncanny  discovery  in 
the  churchyard.  Eleven  young  Bolans,  grouped 
around  the  turf-fire,  drank  in  the  intelligence  and 
instantly  scattered  to  spread  the  report  in  eleven 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS.      149 

different  directions.  A  tale  confided  to  the  Bolan 
household  was  confided  to  rumor. 

Blacksmith  and  sexton  rose  together  and  accom- 
panied Gerald  to  the  spot  where  he  had  left  Dr. 
Lynn,  but  Dr.  Lynn  was  no  longer  alone.  The 
rector  had  heard  steps  in  the  road ;  it  was  a  con- 
stabulary patrol  on  its  round,  and  the  old  gentle- 
man's hail  had  brought  two  policemen  to  his  side. 
There  they  stood,  profoundly  puzzled  and  com- 
pletely in  the  dark,  except  for  the  light  given  by 
their  bull's-eye  lanterns.  But  the  glare  of  these 
lanterns  had  been  seen  from  the  road.  Some  peo- 
ple shunned  them,  as  lights  in  a  graveyard  should 
always  be  shunned ;  but  others,  hearing  voices,  had 
suffered  their  curiosity  to  overcome  their  misgiv- 
ings, and  were  gathered  around,  silent,  open- 
mouthed,  wondering.  So  stood  the  group  when 
Gerald  and  his  companions  joined  it. 

In  reply  to  general  questions  Bolan  was  dumb. 
In  reply  to  particular  interrogations,  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  admit  that  he  was  "  clane  bate."  Ger- 
ald, seeing  that  no  one  had  ventured  to  touch  the 
grim  casket,  hinted  that  it  would  be  well  to  open 
it.  The  crowd,  which  had  been  mostly  collected 
by  the  young  Bolans,  not  finding  such  a  feast  of 
horror  as  the  highly-colored  narratives  of  the  sex- 


ISO  THE   LAST   OF   THE   COSTELLOS. 

ton's  family  had  led  it  to  expect,  appeared  to  favor 
the  suggestion.  There  was  a  dubious  murmur  and 
a  glance  at  the  constables  as  the  visible  representa- 
tives of  the  powers  that  be.  The  officers  tightened 
their  belts  and  seemed  undecided,  and  Dr.  Lynn 
took  the  lead  with  a  clear,  distinct  order.  "  Take 
off  the  lid,  Andy,"  he  said. 

"  An'  why  not  ?  Isn't  his  riverince  a  magis- 
thrate  ?  Go  in,  Andy,  yer  sowl  ye,  and  off  wid  it.'5 
Thus  the  crowd. 

So  encouraged,  the  blacksmith  stepped  forward. 
Without  much  difficulty  he  burst  the  insecure 
fastenings  and  removed  the  lid.  The  constables 
turned  their  bull's  eyes  on  the  inside  of  the  coffin. 
The  crowd  pressed  forward,  Gerald  in  the  front 
rank. 

There  was  an  occupant.  A  young  girl,  white 
with  the  pallor  of  death,  lay  under  the  light  of  the 
lanterns.  The  face  was  as  placid  and  composed  as 
if  she  had  just  fallen  asleep,  and  it  was  a  handsome 
face,  with  regular  features  and  strongly  defined 
black  eyebrows.  The  form  was  fully  dressed,  and 
the  clothes  seemed  expensive  and  fashionable.  A 
few  raven  locks  straggled  out  from  beneath  a  lace 
scarf,  which  was  tied  around  the  head.  The  hands 
crossed  beneath  the  breast  were  neatly  gloved. 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS.  1 51 

There  she  lay,  a  mystery,  for  not  one  of  those  pres- 
ent had  ever  seen  her  face  before. 

Murmurs  of  wonder  and  sympathy  went  up  from 
the  by-standers.  "  Ah,  the  poor,  thing!"  "Isn't 
she  purty !  "  "  So  young,  too  !  "  "  Musha,  it's  the 
beautiful  angel  she  is  be  this  time." 

"  Does  anyone  know  her  ?  "  asked  the  rector  ;  and 
then,  as  there  was  no  reply,  he  put  a  question  that 
was  destined  for  many  a  day  to  agitate  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Drim  and  ring  through  the  length 
and  breadth  of  Ireland :  "  How  did  she  come 
here?" 

The  investigation  made  at  the  moment  was  un- 
satisfactory. The  grass  on  all  sides  had  by  this 
time  been  trampled  and  pressed  down  by  the  curious 
throng,  and  such  tracks  as  the  coffin-bearers  had 
made  were  completely  obliterated.  It  was  clearly 
a  case  for  investigation  by  the  coroner,  and  when 
that  official  arrived  and  took  charge,  the  crowd 
slowly  dispersed. 

Gerald  walked  home  immersed  in  thought.  He 
was  late  for  dinner  at  Ballyvore  Park,  and  his 
brother  and  sister  plied  him  with  questions  when 
he  explained  the  cause  of  his  delay.  But  he  could 
not  hazard  even  a  conjecture  in  the  way  of  explana- 
tion. A  dead  girl  had  been  found,  and  no  one, 


152  THE   LAST   OF   7 WE    COSTELLOS. 

neither  Dr.  Lynn  nor  any  one  else,  could  tell  who 
she  was  or  whence  she  came. 

The  inquest  furnished  no  new  light.  Medical 
testimony  swept  -  away  the  theory  of  murder,  for 
death  was  proved  to  have  resulted  from  organic  dis- 
ease of  the  heart.  The  coffin  might  have  been  found 
at  any  time  within  thirty-six  hours,  for  it  could 
not  be  shown  that  anyone  had  crossed  the  church- 
yard path  since  the  morning  previous;  indeed, 
a  dozen  might  have  passed  that  way  without  seeing 
that  which  Gerald  had  only  discovered  through  the 
accident  of  having  looked  back  at  the  moment  that 
he  mounted  the  wall.  Still,  it  did  not  seem  likely 
that  an  object  of  such  size  could  have  lain  long  un- 
noticed, and  the  doctors  were  of  opinion  that  the 
woman  had  been  alive  twenty-four  hours  before  her 
body  was  found. 

In  the  absence  of  suspicion  of  any  crime — and  the 
medical  examination  furnished  none — interest  cen- 
tred in  the  question  of  identity;  and  this  was  suffi- 
ciently puzzling. 

The  story  got  into  the  newspapers — into  the 
Dublin  papers — afterward  into  the  great  London 
journals,  and  was  widely  discussed  under  the  title 
of  "  The  Drim  Churchyard  Mystery,"  but  all  this 
publicity  and  a  thorough  investigation  of  the  few 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS.  1 53 

available  clues  led  to  nothing — no  one  was  missing  ; 
widely-distributed  photographs  of  the  deceased 
found  no  recognition,  and  the  quest  was  finally 
abandoned,  even  in  the  immediate  neighborhood. 
The  unknown  slept  beneath  the  very  sod  on  which 
they  had  found  her. 

Gerald  Ffrench,  who,  like  most  good  journalists, 
had  a  strongly-developed  detective  instinct,  alone 
kept  the  mystery  in  mind,  and  worked  at  it  inces- 
santly. He  devoted  the  few  remaining  weeks  of  his 
stay  in  Ireland  to  a  patient,  systematic  inquiry, 
starting  from  the  clews  that  had  developed  at  the 
inquest.  He  had  provided  himself  with  a  good 
photograph  of  the  dead  girl,  and  a  minute,  carefully- 
written  description  of  her  apparel,  from  the  lace 
scarf  which  had  been  wound  round  her  head,  to  the 
dainty  little  French  boots  on  her  feet.  These  last 
were  Brussels-made,  and  stamped  with  the  maker's 
name.  The  jacket  had  come  from  a  London  furrier, 
and  the  dress — a  plain  black  silk,  but  of  fashionable 
cut,  and  expensively  trimmed — was  from  one  of  the 
great  Paris  shops — the  Magasin  du  Louvre.  The 
first  examination  had  exhausted  all  these  sources  of 
information  without  result.  None  of  the  tradesmen 
in  the  three  capitals  indicated  could  remember  to 
whom  they  had  sold  these  articles,  especially  as  it 


154      THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS. 

was  impossible  to  furnish  an  approximate  limit  of 
time.  Railway  officials  and  hotel-keepers,  supplied 
with  the  photographs,  could  not  say  that  they  had 
ever  seen  the  original  in  life.  Even  the  coffin — a 
cheap,  ready-made  affair — could  be  traced  to  no 
local  dealer  in  such  wares.  A  chatelaine  bag,  slung 
around  the  waist  of  the  dead  girl,  had  evidently 
been  marked  with  initials,  for  the  leather  showed 
the  holes  in  which  the  letters  had  been  fastened, 
and  the  traces  of  the  knife  employed  in  their  hurried 
removal.  But  the  pretty  feminine  trifle  was  empty 
now,  and  in  its  present  condition  had  nothing  to 
suggest,  save  that  a  determined  effort  had  been 
made  to  hide  the  identity  of  the  dead.  The  linen 
on  the  corpse  was  new  and  of  good  material,  but 
utterly  without  mark.  Only  a  handkerchief,  which 
was  found  in  the  pocket,  bore  a  coat-of-arms  ex- 
quisitely embroidered  in  the  corner.  The  shield  was 
covered  with  a  particular  pattern  in  blue  and  white, 
on  which  were  three  ornamental  crosses  in  gold,  and 
above  was  displayed  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a 
knight  as  a  crest.  Gerald,  whose  smattering  of 
heraldry  told  him  so  much,  could  not  be  sure  that 
the  lines  of  the  embroidery  properly  indicated  the 
colors  of  the  shield,  but  he  was  sanguine  that  a 
device  so  unusual  would  be  recognized  by  the 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS.      155 

learned  in  such  matters  ;  and,  having  carefully 
sketched  it,  he  sent  a  copy  to  the  Herald's  College, 
preserving  the  original  drawing  for  his  own  use. 
The  handkerchief  itself,  with  the  other  things  found 
on  the  body,  was,  of  course,  beyond  his  reach. 

While  awaiting  an  answer  from  the  Herald's  Col- 
lege, young  Ffrench  was  by  no  means  idle.  His 
brother's  dog-cart  was  at  his  service,  and,  in  com- 
pany with  Larry,  the  groom,  the  young  man  made 
an  active  canvass  of  the  neighborhood.  He  was 
far  from  satisfied  with  the  way  the  local  author- 
ities had  gone  to  work.  In  matters  beyond  his 
scope — in  the  inquiries  that  had  been  made  in  dis- 
tant cities — he  was  content  to  take  the  information 
thus  obtained,  but  it  was  not  in  this  direction  he 
looked  to  find  his  clue.  He  built  great  hopes  on 
the  embroidered  handkerchief,  and  was  astonished 
when  the  coroner  pooh-poohed  it  as  a  means  of 
identification.  He  also  thought  that  the  search  for 
the  undertaker,  who  had  supplied  the  last  shelter 
for  the  beautiful  dead,  had  been  too  lightly  given 
over.  He  had  a  theory,  of  course ;  what  detec- 
tive, professional  or  amateur,  ever  started  on  a  quest 
without  one  ?  Gerald's  theory  was  that  the  girl  had 
died  suddenly,  and  her  companions,  probably  for- 
eigners, ignorant  of  the  laws  of  the  country  and  un- 


156  THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

willing  to  be  embarrassed  by  them,  had  procured  a 
coffin,  and  left  the  deceased  for  burial  at  the  nearest 
graveyard.  This  would  argue  that  the  woman  had 
died  somewhere  in  the  immediate  vicinity,  and  it 
was  on  this  hypothesis  that  Gerald  was  working. 
He  considered  that  it  would  have  been  impossible 
to  convey  the  body  for  any  considerable  distance, 
either  by  road  or  rail,  without  attracting  attention, 
and  he  could  imagine  no  possible  reason  why  any- 
one should  have  attempted  so  troublesome  a  task, 
If  she  had  met  a  violent  death,  it  might  be  another 
matter ;  but  testimony  at  the  inquest  had  been  clear 
on  that  point. 

And  so  Edward  Ffrench's  tall  chestnut  horse,  Shan 
Van  Vocht,  whirled  the  light  dog-cart  over  the 
muddy  Westmeath  roads  most  days  during  Gerald's 
last  week  or  two  in  Ireland,  and  the  young  journal- 
ist had  ample  opportunity  during  these  excursions 
to  ponder  over  all  the  phases  of  his  search  in  si- 
lence, or  to  discuss  them  with  Larry,  the  groom. 

But  it  all  led  to  nothing.  If  the  coffin  had  been 
procured  in  the  vicinity,  none  of  the  local  under- 
takers would  admit  the  transaction,  and  Gerald  was 
reduced  to  hope  that  the  embroidery  on  the  hand- 
kerchief might  supply  the  missing  clew,  and  he 
chafed  inwardly  as  day  after  day  went  by  with- 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS.  1 57 

out  bringing  any  answer  from  the  Herald's  Col- 
lege. 

It  came  at  last,  not  very  long  before  the  ap- 
proaching close  of  his  vacation  forced  him  to  leave 
Ireland.  Gerald  found  the  long-expected  letter 
awaiting  him  on  his  return  from  one  of  his  fruitless 
quests.  Eagerly  he  tore  it  open,  but  what  he  read 
only  seemed  to  make  the  mystery  deeper. 

The  arms  had  been  readily  recognized  from  his 
sketch,  and  the  college,  in  return  for  his  fee,  had 
furnished  him  with  an  illuminated  drawing,  showing 
that  the  embroidery  had  been  accurate.  The  shield 
was  "  vair,  three  cross  crosslets  in  bend,  or."  Crest, 
"  a  demi-knight  ppr."  Motto,  "  Nemo  me  impune 
lacessit."  The  bearings  and  cognizance  were  those 
of  the  noble  family  of  Costello,  which  had  left  Ire- 
land about  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century 
and  had  settled  in  Spain.  The  last  representative 
had  fallen  some  sixty  years  ago  at  the  battle  of  Vi- 
toria,  in  the  Peninsular  War,  and  the  name  was  now 
extinct.  So  pronounced  the  unimpeachable  author- 
ity of  the  Herald's  College. 

From  this  Gerald  concluded  that  the  handker- 
chief had  been  marked  by  some  one  accustomed  to 
copy  blazonries  ;  he  thought  it  likely  that  the  work 
had  been  done  in  a  French  convent. 


158  THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

And  yet  he  had  seen  those  very  arms  embroidered 
on  a  handkerchief  which  had  been  found  in  the 
pocket  of  a  nameless  girl,  whose  corpse  he  himself 
had  been  the  first  to  discover  some  two  weeks  be- 
fore in  the  lonely  little  bury  ing-ground  at  Drim. 
What  was  he  to  think?  Through  what  strange, 
undreamed-of  ramifications  was  this  affair  to  be 
pursued. 

A  few  days  before  the  date  fixed  for  his  depart- 
ure, Ffrench  walked  over  to  the  Rectory  to  say  good- 
by  to  Dr.  Lynn.  The  old  gentleman  had  christ- 
ened Gerald  as  a  baJDy,  had  lectured  him  as  a  boy, 
and  had  been  a  good  friend  to  him  ever  since,  and 
the  young  man  was  not  ungrateful.  But  this  time 
his  visit  had  an  object  beyond  the  ostensible  one  of 
courtesy.  Gerald  knew  that  the  rector  was  an  au- 
thority on  county  history,  and  thought  it  possible 
that  the  old  gentleman  could  tell  him  something 
about  the  Costellos,  a  name  linked  with  many  a 
Westmeath  tradition.  He  was  not  disappointed, 
and  the  mystery  he  was  investigating  took  a  new 
interest  from  what  he  heard.  The  Costello  had 
been  one  of  the  midland  chieftains  in  Cromwell's 
time  ;  the  clan  had  offered  the  most  determined  re- 
sistance, and  it  had  been  extirpated,  root  and  branch, 
by  the  Protector.  The  estate  of  Ballyvore  had  once 


THE  LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS.  1 59 

formed  portion  of  the  Costello  property,  and  had 
been  purchased  by  Gerald's  ancestor  from  the 
Cromwellian  Puritan  to  whom  it  had  been  granted 
on  confiscation. 

The  young  man  was  now  deeply  interested  in 
the  inquiry,  and  to  it  he  determined  to  devote  every 
moment  of  the  time  he  could  still  call  his  own. 

But  the  last  week  of  the  young  journalist's  visit 
home  slipped  away  without  result,  and  one  fine 
morning  Larry  drove  him  into  Athlone  to  take  the 
train  for  Queenstown. 

"  Ye'll  not  be  lettin'  another  six  years  go  by  with- 
out comin'  home  agen,  will  ye,  sir  ?  "  said  the  groom, 
who  was  really  concerned  at  Gerald's  departure. 

"  I  don't  know, "  answered  Gerald  ;  "  it  all  de- 
pends. Say,  Larry  ! " 

"  Sir  ! " 

"  Keep  an  eye  out,  and  if  anything  turns  up 
about  that  dead  girl  let  me  know,  won't  you  ? " 
Ffrench  had  already  made  a  similar  request  of  his 
brother,  but  he  was  determined  to  leave  no  chance 
untried. 

"  An'  are  ye  thinkin'  o'  that  yet,  an*  you  goin'  to 
America  ?  "  asked  Larry,  with  admiring  wonder. 

"  Of  course  I'm  thinking  of  it.  I  can't  get  it  out 
of  my  head,"  said  Gerald,  impatiently. 


160  THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

"  Well,  well,  d'ye  mind  that,  now  ? "  remarked 
the  groom,  meditatively.  "  Well,  sir,  if  anything 
does  turn  up,  I'll  let  ye  know,  never  fear  ;  but  sure 
she's  under  ground  now,  an'  if  we'd  been  goin'  to 
larn  anything  about  the  matter  we'd  ha'  had  it 
weeks  ago." 

Gerald  shook  hands  with  the  faithful  Larry  at 
parting,  and  left  a  sovereign  in  his  palm. 

The  groom  watched  the  train  moving  slowly  out 
of  the  station,  then  he  spun  the  coin  in  the  air, 
caught  it,  and  spat  on  it  "  for  luck,"  as  he  explained 
to  himself.  When  the  train  was  out  of  sight,  he 
climbed  back  into  the  dog-cart  and  shook  the  reins 
over  Shan  Van  Vocht's  chestnut  back. 

"  It's  a  mortial  pity  to  see  a  fine  young  jintleman 
like  that  so  far  gone  in  love  with  a  dead  girl." 

This  was  Larry's  comment  on  his  young  master's 
detective  tastes. 

Meanwhile  Gerald  Ffrench,  speeding  southward 
through  the  varied  scenery  of  Munster,  was  taking 
himself  seriously  to  task. 

"  I  must  drop  all  this  nonsense,"  he  reflected,  "  or 
I  won't  be  fit  for  work  again  when  I  get  back.  It 
is  a  mystery,  and  it  has  baffled  me.  Well,  lots  of 
mysteries  are  never  solved,  and  I  suppose  this  will 
be  one  of  them.  I  must  think  of  something  else. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS.      l6l 

I  wonder  if  the  'Frisco  boys  will  be  glad  to  see  me 
when  I  turn  up  again ;"  and  so,  being  in  a  smoking 
carriage,  he  lit  his  pipe,  and  gradually  forced  his 
mind  into  other  channels. 

At  Queenstown  he  bought  a  paper  and  looked 
over  it  while  the  tender  was  carrying  him — in 
company  with  many  a  weeping  emigrant — to  the 
great  steamer  out  in  the  bay.  From  time  to  time 
the  journals  still  contained  references  to  the  subject 
which  was  uppermost  in  Gerald's  thoughts.  The 
familiar  words,  "The  Drim  Churchyard  Mystery" 
caught  his  eye,  and  he  read  a  brief  paragraph,  which 
had  nothing  to  say  except  that  all  investigations 
had  failed  to  throw  any  light  on  the  strange  busi- 
ness. 

"  Ay,  and  will  fail,"  mused  Ffrench  as  the  tender 
came  alongside  the  steamer,  "at  any  rate,  if  any- 
thing is  found  out  it  won't  be  by  me,  for  I  shall  be 
in  California,  and  I  can  scarcely  run  across  any  clews 
there." 

And  yet,  as  Gerald  paced  the  deck  and  watched 
the  bleak  shores  of  Cork  fading  in  the  distance,  his 
thoughts  were  full  of  the  banished  Costellos,  and 
he  wondered  with  what  eyes  those  exiles  had 
looked  their  last  on  the  old  Head  of  Kinsale  a 

quarter  of  a  millennium  ago.    Those  fierce  chieftains, 
n 


1 62  THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

to  whom  the  Ffrenches,  proud  county  family  as 
they  esteemed  themselves,  were  but  as  mushrooms  ; 
what  lives  had  they  lived,  what  deaths  had  they 
died,  and  how  came  their  haughty  cognizance,  so 
well  expressing  its  defiant  motto,  on  the  handker- 
chief of  the  nameless  stranger  who  slept  in  Drim 
Churchyard — Drim,  the  old,  old  graveyard — Drim 
that  had  been  fenced  in  as  God's  acre  in  the  days 
of  the  Costellos  themselves.  Was  it  mere  chance 
that  had  selected  this  spot  as  the  last  resting-place 
of  one  who  bore  the  arms  of  the  race  ?  Was  it 
possible  the  girl  had  shared  the  Costello  blood  ? 

Gerald  glanced  over  his  letter  from  the  Herald's 
College  and  shook  his  head.  The  family  had  been 
extinct  for  more  than  sixty  years. 

II. 

GERALD  FFRENCH  went  back  into  harness  on  his 
arrival  in  San  Francisco  more  readily  than  he  had. 
anticipated.  He  liked  his  work  and  returned  to  it 
refreshed  from  his  three  months'  vacation.  He 
found  it  easy  to  relegate  the  jolly  days  in  hunt- 
ing-field or  at  cover-side  to  their  proper  place  in  his 
life  —  mere  pleasant  memories  to  be  talked  over 
with  the  companions  of  the  hour  of  idleness  and 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS.      163 

dismissed  at  the  call  of  duty.  It  was  more  difficult 
to  banish  recollections  of  Drim  churchyard  and 
what  he  had  found  there,  and  this  subject,  though 
Gerald  kept  it  to  himself,  was  often  present  in  his 
thoughts,  and  filled  much  of  his  leisure  time  with 
the  purposeless  speculation  it  engendered.  Pur- 
poseless, because  he  had  exhausted  conjecture  dur- 
ing the  long  journey  over  ocean  and  continent,  and 
there  was  scarcely  a  theory,  possible  or  impossible, 
which  he  had  not  mentally  tested  and  dismissed. 
Still  the  grim  riddle  and  its  hidden  solution  exer- 
cised a  fascination  upon  the  young  man  which  he 
strove  in  vain  to  resist.  Often,  in  the  solitude  of 
his  own  room,  he  would  enliven  the  pipe  he  was 
accustomed  to  smoke  before  retiring  by  producing 
from  his  desk  the  only  tangible  evidence  which  this 
baffling  case  had  left  in  his  hands — the  photograph 
of  the  dead  girl  and  the  illuminated  shield  he  had  re- 
ceived from  the  Herald's  College.  These  he  would 
lay  before  him,  while  he  went  step  by  step  over  the 
whole  of  the  strange  story  with  which  they  were 
connected.  He  opened  every  letter  that  he  received 
from  home  with  a  vague  hope  that  something  new 
might  have  come  to  light.  But  there  was  never 
even  a  reference  to  the  mystery.  The  whole  mat- 
ter had  evidently  dropped  from  the  gossip  of  the 


1 64  THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

country  side,  and  the  old  burying-ground  at  Drim 
shrouded  its  secret  well. 

About  two  months  after  Gerald's  return  to  Cali- 
fornia a  despatch  was  received  from  the  "  Evening 
Mail's "  regular  correspondent  in  Marysville,  relat- 
ing the  particulars  of  an  encounter  between  the 
Mexican  holders  of  a  large  ranch  in  Yuba  County 
and  certain  American  land-grabbers,  who  had  set  up 
a  claim  to  a  portion  of  the  estate.  The  matter  was 
in  course  of  adjudication  in  the  Marysville  courts, 
but  the  claimants,  impatient  at  the  slow  process  of 
the  law,  had  endeavored  to  seize  the  disputed  land 
by  force.  Shots  had  been  fired,  blood  had  been 
spilled,  and  the  whole  affair  added  nothing  to  Yuba 
County's  reputation  for  law  and  order.  The  matter 
created  some  talk  in  San  Francisco,  and  the  "  Even- 
ing Mail,"  among  other  papers,  expressed  its  opinion 
in  one  of  those  trenchant  personal  articles  which  are 
the  spice  of  Western  journalism.  Two  or  three  days 
later,  when  the  incident  had  been  almost  forgotten 
in  the  office,  the  city  editor  sent  for  Gerald  Ffrench. 

"  Ffrench,"  said  that  gentleman  as  the  young  man 
approached  his  desk,  "  I've  just  received  a  letter 
from  Don  Miguel  y — y — -  something  or  other.  I 
can't  read  his  whole  name,  and  it  don't  much  mat- 
ter. It's  Vincenza,  you  know,  the  owner  of  that 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS.  1 65 

ranch  where  they  had  the  shooting  scrape  the  other 
day.  He  is  anxious  to  make  a  statement  of  the 
matter  for  publication,  and  has  come  down  to  the 
Bay  on  purpose.  Suppose  you  go  and  see  what  he 
has  to  say  ?  He's  staying  at  the  Lick." 

The  same  morning  Gerald  sent  up  his  card,  and 
was  ushered  into  the  apartment  of  Don  Miguel  Vin- 
cenza,  at  the  Lick  House. 

The  Seftor  was  a  young  man,  not  much  older 
than  Gerald  himself.  He  had  the  appearance  and 
manners  of  a  gentleman,  as  Ffrench  quickly  discov- 
ered, and  he  spoke  fluent,  well-chosen  English  with 
scarcely  a  trace  of  accent,  a  circumstance  for  which 
the  interviewer  felt  he  could  not  be  sufficiently 
grateful. 

"  Ah,  you  are  from  the  '  Evening  Mail,'  "  said  the 
young  Spaniard,  rising  as  Gerald  entered ;  "  most 
kind  of  you  to  come,  and  to  come  so  promptly. 
Won't  you  be  seated  ?  Try  a  cigar  ?  No  ?  You'll 
excuse  me  if  I  light  a  cigarette.  I  want  to  make 
myself  clear,  and  I'm  always  clearest  when  I'm  in  a 
cloud."  He  gave  a  little  laugh,  and  with  one  twirl 
of  his  slender  fingers  he  converted  a  morsel  of  tis- 
sue paper  and  a  pinch  of  tobacco  into  a  compact 
roll,  which  he  lighted  and  exhausted  in  half  a 
dozen  puffs,  as  he  spoke. 


1 66  THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

u  This  man — this  Jenkinson's  claim  is  perfectly 
preposterous,"  he  began,  "  but  I  won't  go  into  that. 
The  matter  is  before  the  courts.  What  I  want  to 
give  you  is  a  true  statement  of  that  unfortunate 
affair  at  the  ranch  ;  with  which  I  beg  you  to  believe 
I  had  nothing  whatever  to  do." 

Seflor  Vincenza's  tale  might  have  had  the  merit 
of  truth  ;  it  certainly  lacked  that  of  brevity.  He 
talked  on — rolling  a  fresh  cigarette  at  every  second 
sentence — and  Gerald  made  notes  of  such  points  as 
he  considered  important,  but  at  the  conclusion  of 
the  Spaniard's  statement  the  journalist  could  not 
see  that  it  differed  from  the  published  accounts,  and 
he  told  the  other  as  much. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Vincenza,  "  I  am  in  a  deli- 
cate position.  It  is  not  as  if  I  were  acting  for  my- 
self. I  am  only  my  sister's  agent — my  half-sister's 
I  should  say — poor  little  Catalina — "  and  the 
speaker  broke  off  with  a  sigh  and  rolled  a  fresh 
cigarette  before  he  resumed.  "  It's  her  property,  all 
of  it,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  have  her  misrepresented 
in  any  way." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Gerald  making  a  note  of  the 
fact.  "  The  property,  I  suppose,  passed  to  your  sis- 
ter from — " 

"  From   her  father.     I  was  in  the  land  of  the  liv- 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS.      167 

ing  some  years  before  he  met,  and  wooed,  and  won 
my  widowed  mother.  They  are  both  dead  now 
and  Catalina  has  none  but  myself  to  look  out  for 
her — except  distant  relatives  on  the  father's  side, 
who  will  inherit  the  property  if  she  dies  unmarried 
and  whom  she  cordially  detests." 

Gerald  was  not  particularly  romantic,  but  the  idea 
of  this  fair  young  Spaniard,  owner  of  one  of  the 
finest  ranches  in  Yuba  County,  unmarried,  and  hand- 
some, too,  if  she  were  anything  like  her  brother,  in- 
flamed his  imagination  a  little.  He  shook'hands 
cordially  with  the  young  man,  as  he  rose  to  go,  and 
could  not  help  wishing  they  were  better  acquainted. 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  will  publish  your  statement 
exactly  as  you  have  given  it  to  me,  and  as  fully 
as  possible,"  said  Gerald.  Before  the  young  heir- 
ess had  been  mentioned  the  journalist  had  scarcely 
seen  material  enough  in  the  interview  for  a  para- 
graph. 

It  is  fair  to  presume  that  Sefior  Vincenza  was 
satisfied  with  the  treatment  he  received  in  the 
"  Evening  Mail,"  for  a  polite  note  conveyed  to 
Ffrench  the  expression  of  his  thanks. 

So  that  incident  passed  into  the  limbo  of  for- 
getfulness,  though  Gerald  afterward  took  more  in- 
terest in  the  newspaper  paragraphs,  often  scant 


1 68  THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

enough,  which  told  of  the  progress  of  the  great 
land  case  in  the  Marysville  courts. 

A  curt  despatch,  worded  with  that  exasperating 
brevity  which  is  a  peculiarity  of  all  but  the  most 
important  telegrams,  wound  up  the  matter  with 
an  announcement  that  a  decision  had  been  reached 
in  favor  of  the  defendant,  and  that  Mr.  Isaac  Hall, 
of  the  law  firm  of  Hall  &  McGowan,  had  returned 
to  San  Francisco,  having  conducted  the  case  to  a 
successful  issue.  Gerald  was  pleased  to  hear  that 
the  young  lady  had  been  sustained  in  her  rights, 
and  determined  to  interview  Mr.  Hall,  with  whom 
he  was  well  acquainted.  Accordingly,  after  two  or 
three  unsuccessful  attempts,  he  managed  to  catch 
the  busy  lawyer  with  half  an  hour's  spare  time  on 
his  hands,  and  well  enough  disposed  to  welcome 
his  young  friend. 

"  Mr.  Hall,"  said  Gerald,  dropping  into  the  spare 
chair  in  the  attorney's  private  room,  "  I  want  to  ask 
you  a  few  questions  about  that  Marysville  land  case." 

"  Fire  ahead,  my  boy ;  I  can  give  you  twenty 
minutes,"  answered  the  lawyer,  who  was  disposed 
to  make  a  great  deal  more  of  the  victory  he  had 
won  than  the  newspapers  had  hitherto  done,  and 
who  was  consequently  by  no  means  averse  from  an 
interview.  "  What  do  you  want  to  know  ?  " 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS.      169 

"  Hard  fight,  wasn't  it  ?  "  began  the  journalist. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Hall,  "  tough  in  a  way ;  but 
we  had  right  on  our  side  as  well  as  possession.  A 
good  lawyer  ought  always  to  win  when  he  has  those ; 
to  beat  law  and  facts  and  everything  else  is  harder 
scratching  ;  though  I've  done  that  too,"  and  the  old 
gentleman  chuckled  as  if  well  satisfied  with  him- 
self. 

"  That's  what  your  opponents  had  to  do  here, 
I  suppose,"  remarked  Gerald,  echoing  the  other's 
laugh. 

"  Pretty  much,  only  they  didn't  do  it,"  said  the 
lawyer. 

"  I  met  Vincenza  when  he  was  down  last  month," 
pursued  Gerald.  "  He  seems  a  decentish  sort  of  a 
fellow  for  a  greaser." 

"  He's  no  greaser ;  he's  a  pure-blooded  Castilian, 
and  very  much  of  the  gentleman,"  answered  Hall. 

"  So  I  found  him,"  assented  Gerald.  "  I  only 
used  the  <  greaser  '  as  a  generic  term.  He  talks  Eng- 
lish as  well  as  I  do." 

"  That's  a  great  compliment  from  an  Irishman," 
observed  Mr.  Hall,  with  another  chuckle. 

"  I  suppose  the  sister's  just  as  nice  in  her  own 
way,"  went  on  Gerald,  seeing  an  opportunity  to 
satisfy  a  certain  curiosity  he  had  felt  about  the 


1 70  THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

heiress  since  he  first  heard  of  her  existence.  "  Did 
she  make  a  good  witness  ?  " 

"Who  ?  What  sister  ?  What  the  deuce  are  you 
talking  about  ?  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

"  Why,  Vincenza's  sister,  half-sister,  whatever  she 
is.  I  understood  from  him  that  she  was  the  real 
owner  of  the  property." 

"  Oh,  ay,  to  be  sure,"  said  Mr.  Hall,  slowly ; 
"  these  details  escape  one.  Vincenza  was  my 
client ;  he  acts  for  the  girl  under  power  of  attorney, 
and  really  her  name  has  hardly  come  up  since  the 
very  beginning  of  the  case." 

"  You  didn't  see  her,  then  ?"  asked  Gerald,  con- 
scious of  a  vague  sense  of  disappointment. 

"  See  her  !  "  repeated  the  lawyer.  "  No  ;  how 
could  I  ?  She's  in  Europe  for  educational  advan- 
tages ;  at  a  convent  somewhere,  I  believe." 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  Gerald,  "  a  child,  is  she  ?  I  had 
fancied,  I  don't  know  why,  that  she  was  a  grown-up 
young  lady." 

"  I  couldn't  tell  you  what  her  age  is,  but  it  must 
be  over  twenty-one,  or  she  couldn't  have  executed 
the  power  of  attorney  ;  and  that  was  looked  into  at 
the  start,  and  found  to  be  quite  regular." 

"  Rather  late  in  the  day  to  be  going  in  for  educa- 
tion, isn't  it  ?  "  remarked  Gerald. 


THE   LAST   OF  THE    COST  EL  LOS.  \Tl 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  the  lawyer.  "  What  op- 
portunities could  she  have  had  in  Yuba  County  ? 
Indeed,  now  I  think  of  it,  the  girl  must  be  about 
two-and-twenty,  for  they  went  to  Europe  last  year, 
and  she  waited  till  she  was  of  age  and  able  to  ar- 
range her  affairs  personally  before  she  would  start." 

"  I  see,"  said  Gerald,  slowly ;  but  the  topic  had 
started  Mr.  Hall  on  a  fresh  trail,  and  he  broke  in  : 

"  And  preciously  they  must  have  arranged  them. 
Do  you  know  we  came  within  an  ace  of  losing,  all 
through  their  confounded  careless  way  of  keeping 
their  papers  ?  " 

"  How  did  they  keep  them  ? "  inquired  Gerald, 
listlessly.  The  suit  appeared  to  be  a  commonplace 
one,  and  the  young  man's  interest  began  to  wane. 

"  They  didn't  keep  them  at  all,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Hall,  indignantly.  "  Fancy,  the  original  deed — 
the  old  Spanish  grant — the  very  keystone  of  our 
case,  was  not  to  be  found  till  the  last  moment,  and 
then  only  by  the  merest  accident ;  and  where  do 
you  suppose  it  was  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  an  idea,"  replied  Gerald,  stifling  a  yawn. 

"At  the  back  of  an  old  print  of  the  Madonna. 
It  had  been  framed  and  hung  up,  as  an  ornament,  I 
suppose,  heaven  knows  when  ;  and  by  and  by  some 
smart  Aleck  came  along  and  thought  the  Mother 


1/2  THE  LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

and  Child  superior  as  a  work  of  art,  and  slapped  it 
into  the  frame  over  the  deed,  and  there  it  has  hung 
for  ten  years,  anyhow." 

"  That's  really  very  curious,"  said  Gerald,  whose 
attention  began  to  revive  as  he  saw  a  possible  col- 
umn to  be  compiled  on  the  details  of  the  case  that 
had  seemed  so  uninteresting  to  his  contemporaries. 

"  Curious  !  I  call  it  sinful — positively  wicked," 
cried  the  old  gentleman,  wrathfully.  "  Just  fancy 
$200,000  hanging  on  the  accident  of  finding  a  parch- 
ment in  such  a  place  as  that." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  find  it  ?  "  asked  Gerald. 
"  I  should  never  have  thought  of  looking  for  it  there." 

"  No,  nor  any  other  sane  man,5'  sputtered  the  law- 
yer, irritated  as  he  recalled  the  anxiety  the  missing 
deed  had  caused  him.  "  It  was  found  by  accident, 
I  tell  you.  Some  blundering,  awkward,  heaven- 
guided  servant  knocked  the  picture  down  and  broke 
the  frame.  The  Madonna  was  removed,  and  the 
missing  paper  came  to  light." 

"  And  that  was  the  turning-point  of  the  case  ? 
Very  interesting,  indeed,"  mused  Gerald,  who  saw 
in  the  working  out  of  this  legal  romance  a  bit  of  de- 
tective writing  such  as  his  soul  loved.  "  I  suppose 
they'll  have  sense  enough  to  put  it  in  a  safer  place 
next  time." 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS.      1/3 

"  I  will,  you  may  bet  your  life.  I've  taken  charge 
of  all  the  family  documents,  and  if  they  get  away 
from  me  they'll  do  something  that  nothing's  ever 
done  before,"  and  the  old  lawyer  chuckled  with  re- 
newed satisfaction  as  he  pointed  to  the  massive  safe 
in  a  corner  of  the  office. 

"  So  the  deed  is  there,  is  it  ?  "  asked  Gerald,  fol- 
lowing Mr.  Hall's  eyes. 

"  Yes,  it's  there.  A  curious  old  document,  too  ; 
one  of  the  oldest  grants  I  have  ever  come  across. 
Would  you  like  to  see  it  ?  "  and  the  lawyer  rose  and 
opened  the  safe. 

It  was  a  curious  old  document,  drawn  up  in 
curious  old  Spanish,  on  an  old,  discolored  piece  of 
parchment.  The  body  of  the  instrument  was  unin- 
telligible to  Ffrench,  but  down  in  one  corner  was 
something  that  riveted  his  attention  in  a  moment, 
and  seemed  to  make  his  heart  stand  still. 

There  was  a  signature  in  old-fashioned,  angular 
hand-writing,  "  Roderiguez  Costello  y  Ugarte,"  and 
opposite  it  a  large,  spreading  seal.  The  impression 
showed  a  knight's  head  and  shoulders  in  full  armor, 
and  below  it  the  shield,  vair,  with  three  cross  cross- 
lets,  or  ;  and  the  motto  : 

"Nemo  me  impune  lacessit." 


1/4      THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTRLLOS. 

Point  for  point  the  identical  blazonry  which  Ffrench 
had  received  from  the  Herald's  College  in  England ; 
the  shield  that  he  had  first  seen  embroidered  on  the 
dead  girl's  handkerchief  at  Drim. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  Didn't  you  ever 
see  an  old  Spanish  deed  before,  or  has  it  any  of  the 
properties  of  a  Medusa's  head  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Hall, 
noticing  Gerald's  start  of  amazement  and  intent 
scrutiny  of  the  seal. 

"  I've  seen  these  arms  before,"  said  the  young 

man,  slowly.  "  But  the  name "  he  placed  his 

finger  on  the  signature.  "  Of  course  I  knew  Vin- 
cenza's  name  must  be  different  from  his  half-sister's  ; 
but  is  that  her's?" 

"  Ugarte  ?  Yes,"  replied  the  lawyer,  glancing  at 
the  parchment. 

"I  mean  the  whole  name,"  and  Gerald  pointed 
again. 

"  Costello  !  "  Mr.  Hall  gave  the  word  its  Spanish 
pronunciation — Costelyo — and  it  sounded  strange 
and  foreign  in  the  young  man's  ears.  "  Costello, 
yes,  I  suppose  so,  but  I  don't  try  to  keep  track  of 
more  of  these  Spaniards'  titles  than  is  absolutely 
necessary." 

"  But  Costello  is  an  Irish  name,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Is  it  ?     You  ought  to  know.     Well,  Costelyo 's 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS.  1 7$ 

Spanish  ;  and  now,  my  dear  boy,  I  must  positively 
turn  you  out.  I  have  just  half  an  hour  for  my  clerk 
to  fill  me  full  before  I  attend  a  reference." 

Gerald  went  straight  home  without  returning  to 
the  office.  He  unlocked  his  desk  and  took  from  it 
the  two  results  of  his  first  essay  in  detective  craft. 
Silently  he  laid  them  side  by  side  and  scrutinized 
each  closely  in  turn.  The  pale,  set  face  of  the 
beautiful  dead,  as  reproduced  by  the  photographer's 
art,  told  him  nothing.  He  strove  to  trace  some 
resemblance,  to  awaken  some  memory  by  long 
gazing  at  the  passionless  features,  but  it  was  in  vain. 
Then  he  turned  to  the  illuminated  shield.  Every 
line  was  familiar  to  him,  and  a  glance  sufficed.  It 
was  identical  in  all  respects  with  the  arms  on  the 
seal.  Of  this  he  had  been  already  convinced,  and 
his  recollection  had  not  betrayed  him.  Then  he 
placed  the  two — the  piteous  photograph  and  the 
proud  blazonry — in  his  pocket-book,  and  left  the 
room.  He  went  straight  to  the  office  of  the  "  Even- 
ing Mail  "  and  requested  a  week's  leave  of  absence. 
This  was  obtained,  not  without  some  difficulty  and 
a  few  sharp  words  ;  but  it  was  obtained,  which  was 
all  Ffrench  cared  about.  The  same  evening  he 
took  his  place  on  the  Sacramento  train  en  route 
for  Marysville. 


1/  THE  LAST   OF  THE    COSTELLOS. 

III. 

IT  is  a  long  eighteen  miles  from  the  capital  of 
Yuba  County  to  the  village  of  San  Luis,  near 
which,  as  Gerald  ascertained,  the  Ugarte  ranch  is 
situated.  There  was  no  public  conveyance  to  the 
village,  but  Gerald  found  little  difficulty  in  obtain- 
ing a  team  at  a  Marysville  livery  stable,  pledging  his 
word  and  his  credentials  as  an  "  Evening  Mail  "  cor- 
respondent for  its  safe  return.  With  minute  instruc- 
tions as  to  his  route,  which  resolved  themselves 
into  a  direction  to  leave  Marysville  by  the  south 
and  keep  the  straight  track  till  it  went  no  farther, 
he  started.  The  drive,  as  a  drive,  was  far  from  en- 
joyable. It  was  near  the  close  of  the  long,  dry 
California  summer,  and  the  red  dust  lay  inches 
thick  in  the  road,  whirling  up  in  blinding  clouds 
under  the  horses'  feet,  and  settling  on  the  traveller's 
garments,  in  his  hair,  in  his  eyes,  with  an  intrusive 
persistence.  Every  bush  by  the  way  bore  on  arid 
branches  a  burden  of  offensive  particles.  Gerald 
was  compelled  to  cough  the  dust  out  of  his  throat 
and  rub  it  from  his  eyes  at  least  a  dozen  times  for 
every  mile  of  that  weary  journey,  and  the  level  red 
track  stretched  for  six  long  leagues  across  the 
parched  tule  lands  of  Yuba. 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS.  IJJ 

It  was  growing  dusk  as  young  Ffrench  drove  into 
San  Luis.  The  village  consisted  of  a  plaza, — four 
rows  of  irregularly  built  houses,  with  wide  intervals 
between  them,  all  'fronting  on  a  large  dusty  square. 
The  buildings  were  of  wood,  some  painted  a  star- 
ing white,  some  displaying  the  natural  tints  of  the 
discolored  timber.  There  might  have  been  two 
score  of  them  in  all.  One,  dignified  by  a  broad 
veranda,  was  labelled  "  Hotel,"  and,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  plaza,  above  a  door,  swung  a  rudely 
painted  sign,  representing  two  drunken  men  endeav- 
oring to  .support  one  another,  with  the  legend  be- 
low, "  Los  Dos  Amigos."  This  was  evidently  the 
liquor  shop  of  the  place,  for  its  windows  were 
adorned  with  whiskey  labels  and  brewery  chromos. 
There  was  not  much  sign  of  life  in  the  square ;  a 
few  men  lounged  about  or  sat  smoking  on  the  sides 
of  a  large  horse-trough  which,  surmounted  by  a 
pump,  occupied  the  centre.  They  seemed  indolent 
and  indifferent,  and  took  little  notice  of  Gerald  as 
he  pulled  up  in  a  cloud  of  dust  and  tried  to  single 
out  some  one  to  question. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  whereabouts  is  the  Ugarte 
ranch  ?  "  asked  Gerald,  choosing  a  man  who  stood, 
hands  in  pockets,  leaning  against  the  pump.  "  It's 
somewhere  near  here,  isn't  it  ?  " 

12 


1 78  THE  LAST   OF  THE    COSTELLOS. 

"  Tends  on  what  yer  call  near,"  said  the  individual 
addressed,  bringing  one  hand  and  a  huge  twist  of  to- 
bacco into  sight.  He  gnawed  a  piece  from  the  mass 
and  then  cast  a  critical  eye  over  Gerald's  equipage. 
"  Ye've  come  a  right  smart  piece  I'm  thinking?" 

"  From  Marysville,"  answered  Ffrench. 

"  Ay,  them  plugs  shows  it,"  remarked  the  man, 
and  relapsed  into  silence. 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  where  the  Ugarte  ranch  is  ?  " 
repeated  Gerald,  after  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Who'd  yer  wan  ter  see  there  ?  Yincenza  ? " 
asked  the  other. 

It  was  at  the  tip  of  Gerald's  tongue  to  tell  the 
fellow  to  mind  his  own  business,  but  he  restrained 
himself. 

"  Yes,  Vincenza,"  he  answered. 

"  Wai,  let's  see  !  Yer  take  that  there  road  run- 
ning out  by  the  corner,  and  keep  the  sun  at  yer 
back  till  yer  get  ter  the  foot  of  the  mesa " 

"  How  far  is  it  ? "  interrupted  Gerald,  to  whom 
this  elaborate  direction  suggested  distance. 

"  Matter  o'  twelve  miles,"  replied  the  other,  indif- 
ferently. 

Ffrench  cast  a  look  of  despair  at  his  weary 
horses.  It  was  evidently  impossible  to  take  them 
much  further,  and  besides,  night  was  falling. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS.      179 

"  Twelve  miles  !  "  he  said.  "  I'll  have  to  wait  till 
to-morrow." 

"Ay,  do,  stranger,"  cried  the  other,  brightening 
up  into  a  faint  show  of  interest.  "  Put  yer  team 
up  at  the  livery  stable,  get  a  shake-down  for  your- 
self at  the  hotel,  and  come  over  to  Los  Dos  Ami- 
gos  after  supper.  I'll  scare  yer  up  a  game  of  monte, 
or  something  to  keep  yer  amoosed,  or  I'll  bust  try- 
ing." 

Without  committing  himself  to  any  acknowl- 
edgment of  this  hospitable  proposition,  Gerald 
drove  slowly  across  the  plaza  toward  the  stable. 
A  horsy  looking  young  fellow,  who  stood  before 
the  entrance  chewing  a  straw,  came  forward  and,  to 
Ffrench's  intense  astonishment,  accosted  him  by 
name,  and  in  the  broad,  familiar  dialect  of-Western 
Leinster. 

"  May  I  never  ate  another  bit  if  it  isn't  Masther 
Gerald  Ffrench,"  he  said.  "Well,  well,  well,  but 
it's  good  for  sore  eyes  to  see  ye.  Come  out  here, 
Steve,  and  take  the  team.  Jump  down,  Masther 
Gerald,  an'  stretch  yer  legs  a  bit.  It's  kilt  ye  are 
entirely." 

A  swarthy  little  Mexican  appeared  as  Gerald 
alighted  and  led  the  tired  horses  into  the  stable. 
Then  the  young  journalist  took  a  good  look  at  the 


ISO  THE  LAST   OF   THE    COS7"ELLOS. 

man  who  seemed  to  know  him  so  well,  and  endeav- 
ored, as  the  phrase  goes,  to  "  place  him." 

The  face  seemed  familiar — a  sharp,  thin,  close- 
shaven  face,  with  small,  gray  eyes,  and  bushy,  black 
brows,  and  about  the  cheeks  and  chin  that  peculiar 
blue  tint  which  is  the  silent  protest  of  a  banished 
beard.  He  felt  he  had  seen  the  man  more  than 
once,  but  where,  or  when,  or  under  what  circum- 
stances he  could  not  for  the  moment  determine. 
The  other  did  not  leave  him  long  in  doubt. 

"  Ye  don't  mind  me,  yer  honor,  an'  how  wud  ye  ? 
But  I  mind  yerself  well.  Sure  it's  often  I  druv  ye 
and  Mr.  Edward,  too.  I  used  to  wurruk  for  Mr. 
Ross,  o'  Mullingar.  I  was  Denny,  the  post-boy — 
Dennis  Driscoll,  yer  honor ;  sure  ye  must  know  me." 

"Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure;  I  remember,"  said  Gerald, 
as  recollection  slowly  dawned  upon  him.  "But 
who'd  have  thought  of  finding  you  in  a  place  like 
this  ?  I  didn't  even  know  you  had  left  Ross's  sta- 
bles." 

"  Six,  sivin  months  ago,  yer  honor." 

"  And  have  you  been  here  ever  since  ?  I  hope 
you  are  doing  well,"  asked  Gerald. 

"  Iver  since,  sor ;  an'  doin'  finely,  wid  the  blessin' 
o'  God.  I  own  that  place,"  pointing  to  the  stable, 
"  an'  four  as  good  turnouts  as  ye'd  ax  to  sit  behind." 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS.      l8l 

"  I'm  glad  of  it,"  cried  Gerald,  heartily.  "  I  like 
to  hear  of  the  boys  from  the  old  neighborhood  do- 
ing well." 

"  Won't  ye  step  inside,  sor,  and  thry  a  dhrop  o' 
something  ?  ye  must  be  choked  intirely  wid  the 
dust." 

"I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  answered  Gerald.  "  I  feel 
pretty  much  as  if  I'd  swallowed  a  lime-kiln." 

A  minute  later  the  two  were  seated  in  Denny's 
own  particular  room,  where  Gerald  washed  the  dust 
from,  his  throat  with  some  capital  bottled  beer, 
while  his  host  paid  attention  to  a  large  demijohn, 
which  contained,  as  he  informed  the  journalist  in  an 
impressive  whisper,  "  close  on  to  a  gallon  o'  the  raal 
ould  stuff." 

"  And  how  did  you  get  such  a  start  ?  "  inquired 
Gerald,  with  some  curiosity.  "  I  didn't  even  know 
you  were  going  to  America,  and  I  think  you  drove 
me  once  at  least  while  I  was  at  home  last  winter." 

"  I  did,  sor ;  an'  it's  little  I  thought  o'  goin'  to 
Ameriky  thin,  an'  as  for  this  little  contimptuous 
place,  I'd  niver  heerd  tell  of  it.  It's  a  quare 
story." 

"  Suppose  you  tell  it  me,"  said  Gerald,  pouring 
out  a  fresh  supply  of  beer. 

The  other  held  the  demijohn  in  an  affectionate 


1 82  THE   LAST    OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

embrace,  as  though  it  were  a  valued  friend,  while  he 
tilted  a  fair  amount  of  whiskey  into  his  glass. 

"  A  quare  story,"  repeated  Denny ;  "  an'  if  I  was 
in  ould  Ireland,  divil  an  open  wud  I  open  me 
mouth  about  it ;  but  here,  in  these  outlandish  parts, 
what  odds  does  it  make  ?  There  was  a  foreign 
jintleman  thravellin'  in  Ireland  last  winter" 

"  Was  his  name  Vincenza  ? "  inquired  Gerald, 
starting  from  his  seat  as  the  possibilities  of  the  com- 
ing revelation  were  borne  in  upon  him. 

"  That  was  his  name,''  answered  Denny,  "  though 
I  didn't  know  it  at  the  time.  Is  yer  honor  ac- 
quainted wid  him  ?  " 

"  Yes — no — I  have  met  him,"  said  Gerald,  angry 
at  himself  at  haying  allowed  the  exclamation  to  es- 
cape him.  "  But  what  has  he  to  do  with  your  being 
here?" 

"  Everything,"  answered  Denny,  with  a  grin. 
"  He's  a  great  rich  jintleman  an'  owns  all  the  land 
round  here  for  moiles.  He  brot  me  up  here  wid 
him,  an'  bought  me  these  turnouts  an'  set  me  up  in 
business." 

"  That  was  very  kind  of  him,"  commented  Gerald ; 
"  it  isn't  every  gentleman  you  drive  does  as  much 
for  you." 

"  It  isn't  ivery  jintleman  I  dhrive  puts  as  quare  a 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS.      183 

job  on  me  as  he  done.  Now,  listen,  Masther 
Gerald,  an'  tell  me  what  ye  think  o'  this."  Denny 
moistened  his  lips  with  a  few  drops  of  the  "  ould 
stuff,"  cleared  his  throat,  and  proceeded.  "  The  jin- 
tleman — Mr.  Vincenza,  as  I  know  him  to  be  now — 
was  thravellin'  wid  his  sister,  as  purty  a  young  lady 
as  iver  I  seen,  an'  they  cum  to  Mullingar  on  the 
evenin'  thrain  from  Dublin,  last  January  it  was.  I 
was  at  the  station  wid  Mr.  Ross's  close  carriage,  for 
it  was  a  rainy  night,  waitin'  for  any  fare  I  might 
pick  up  off  o'  the  train.  Mr.  Vincenza  comes  up  to 
me  an'  he  sez,  sez  he,  '  D'ye  know  where  Drim  is, 
me  boy  ?'  '  Why  not,  sir  ?  '  sez  I,  as  why  shouldn't 
I.  Wid  that  he  wint  back  and  brot  the  young  lady 
out  o'  the  station.  She  was  donny  and  wakely,  it 
seemed,  an'  she  kept  a  lanin'  on  his  arrum.  The 
two  were  colloquin'  together  in  some  foreign  lingo 
I  knew  nothing  about,  but  it  was  plain  to  be  seen 
that  she  was  hell-bent  to  go  to  Drim,  an'  he  wanted 
to  stay  in  Mullingar  that  night.  Well,  to  mek  a 
long  story  short,  she  had  her  way,  and  they  got  into 
the  carriage,  he  helpin'  her,  for  he  was  mighty  tinder 
of  her.  I  started  an'  druv  along  middlin'  aisy,  an' 
whin  I  was  about  a  mile  on  t'other  side  o'  Kinnegad 
I  heerd  some  one  callin'  to  me  out  o'  the  carriage, 
*  Stop,  dhriver,  stop  ! '  so  I  pulled  up  and  the  jintle- 


1 84  THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

man  opened  the  dure  and  got  out.  Sez  he,  '  Get 
down  driver,'  sez  he,  '  me  sister's  tuk  very  bad.' 
That's  the  way  I  come  to  know  she  was  his  sister. 
Before  that  I  tuk  thim  for  husban'  an'  wife.  Well, 
she  was  mortial  bad,  surely — wake  an'  faint,  an'  roll- 
in'  her  eyes  terrible.  I'd  unhooked  wan  o'  the  car- 
riage lamps  an'  held  it  for  light.  Well,  to  mek  a 
long  story  short,  she  died  thin  an'  there,  an'  I  was 
that  scared  I  didn't  know  which  side  o'  me  was  up- 
permost. The  jintleman  tuk  on  terrible,  an'  kissed 
her  dead  face,  an'  called  her  all  sorts  o'  soft  names  in 
his  foreign  lingo.  At  last  he  straightens  up,  an'  he 
sez  to  me,  '  Dhriver,'  sez  he,  'this  is  a  bad  business.' 
*  Ye're  right,  sir,  it  is,'  sez  I.  '  I  was  afraid  of  some- 
thin'  like  this,'  sez  he,  '  she  had  heart  disease  an'  it's 
killed  her.'  '  It's  a  mortial  pity  thin,  sir,'  sez  I,  for 
her  face  was  as  calm  and  paceful  as  an  angel's,  an' 
she  luked  beautiful  in  the  lamp-light.  Wid  that  he 
fell  to  cryin'  an'  kissin'  her  agen,  an'  then  he  sez,  sez 
he,  '  D'ye  know  of  any  undertaker  in  the  neighbor- 
hood where  we  cud  git  a  coffin  for  the  poor  thing  ? ' 
sez  he.  c  I  do  sir,'  sez  I ;  for  I  thought  o'  Fergus 
Farrell,  just  outside  o'  the  town  o'  Kinnegad,  not 
half  a  mile  from  where  we  was  that  minit." 

"Fergus    Farrell!"   interrupted    Gerald.      "Did 
you  get  that  coffin  from  him  ?  " 


THE'  LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS.  185 

"We  did  that,  sor;  from  no  one  else." 
"  The  confounded  liar,"  muttered  Ffrench,  for  the 
aforesaid  Farrell  was  one  of  those  whom  he  had 
cross-questioned  in  his  canvass  of  the  Westmeath 
undertakers  ;  but  Denny's  story  had  reached  an  in- 
teresting point,  so  Gerald  only  spared  time  for  a  sin- 
gle malediction,  and  then  urged  the  other  to  proceed. 
"We  found  Farrell,  sir,  an',  after  a  bit  of  a  talk 
betune  the  foreign  jintleman  an'  himself,  a  coffin 
was  brot  out  an'  the  young  lady  was  put  in  it.  The 
jintleman  tuk  his  knife  an'  ripped  somethin'  off  the 
bag  she  wore  at  her  side,  and  then  Farrell  nailed  the 
coffin  down.  It  'ud  do  full  as  well,  he  said,  an'  it 
'ud  take  a  long  time  to  screw  it.  Then  the  jintle- 
man gave  Fergus  money — a  whole  fistfuL  o'  notes 
— an'  I  thought  it  was  a  big  price  for  a  coffin,  but  I 
sed  nothin'.  They  put  it  on  the  dhrivin  sate,  be- 
case  they  cudn't  get  it  inside.  I  didn't  like  it 
much,  but  the  jintleman  sed  I  should  be  well  ped — 
and  so,  you  see,  I  was.  '  Where  to  now,  sir,'  sez  I. 
1  To  Drim  Churchyard,'  sez  he,  an'  off  I  went.  I 
thought  it  was  mighty  quare,  the  whole  thing,  but 
it  was  the  best  o'  me  play  to  say  nothin'.  Whin 
we  got  to  Drim,  I  druv  in  be  the  lower  road  ;  it  was 
close  onto  midnight  be  that  time,  an'  we  lifted  the 
coffin  over  the  wall  where  the  steps  is,  an'  set  it 


1 86  THE   LAST   OF   THE    COS  TELL  OS. 

among  the  grass  a  little  back.  Then  the  jintleman 
knelt  down  by  it  in  the  wet  and  done  a  little 
prayin',  I  judge,  and  he  got  up  an'  sez,  '  She'll  rest 
there  where  she  wished  to  rest,'  and  then  we  went 
back  to  the  carriage.  'Aren't  ye  goin'  to  bury  her, 
sir,'  sez  I.  '  No,'  he  sez,  '  others  must  do  that.  I 
have  no  time,'  an'  wid  that  he  climbed  up  on  the 
box  nixt  to  me,  though  it  was  pourin'  rain.  'Back 
to  Mullingar,'  he  sez,  an'  away  we  druv.  Well,  the 
whole  way  he  was  tellin'  me  what  an'  illegant  place 
Ameriky  is,  an'  how  he  was  goin'  straight  back,  an' 
wouldn't  I  like  to  come.  There  was  no  end  to  what 
he  was  goin'  to  do  for  me.  He  swore  a  big  oath 
there  was  nothin'  wrong  in  this  night's  wurruk,  that 
he  loved  his  sister  better  nor  his  life,  an'  that  he'd 
done  all  he  had  done  becase  it  was  her  last  wish. 
Well,  to  mek  a  long  story  short,  before  we  got  to 
Mullingar  I  was  hot  to  go  back  wid  him  to  Ameriky. 
He  said  we  must  start  at  wanst,  but  that  med  no 
odds  to  me,  for  I'd  none  belongin'  to  me.  Well,  he 
got  off  at  the  railway  station,  an'  towld  me  to  come 
to  him  there  as  soon  as  I'd  druv  back  the  carriage; 
an'  he  ped  a  good  price  for  his  dhrive.  Well,  I  guv 
in  the  carriage,  and  towld  the  masther  that  I  was 
goin'  away  for  a  few  days,  an'  then  I  kem  to  the 
station.  We  tuk  the  early  mornin'  thrain  for  Ath- 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    COST  ELL  OS.  l8/ 

lone,  an'  from  that  down  to  Queenstown,  where 
we  caught  the  steamer  the  very  same  day.  An'  I'm 
doin'  well  here,  an'  have  niver  regritted  comin'." 

"  A  very  curious  story,  indeed,  Denny,"  said  Ger- 
ald. "  Do  you  remember  what  day  of  the  week  all 
this  happened  ?  " 

"  I  do  sir,  for  it  was  a  Tuesday  night  we  left  the 
young  lady  in  Drim,  an'  we  tuk  the  Wednesday's 
'steamer  at  Queenstown." 

"  So,"  reflected  Gerald,  "  they  were  on  the  broad 
Atlantic  when  I  saw  the  coffin  among  the  grass  that 
Wednesday  evening." 

"  Denny,"  resumed  Ffrench,  after  a  short  silence, 
during  which  he  had  written  a  few  lines  on  his  card, 
"couldn't  your  helper — what  do  you  call  him  ?" 

"  I  call  him  Steve,  sor,  for  short,  but  his  real 
name  is  Stefano." 

"  Well,  couldn't  he  ride  over  to  the  Ugarte  ranch 
and  give  this  card  of  mine  to  Senor  Vincenza  ?  " 

"  Why  not,  sor — but  wait  now.  Ye're  not  goin' 
to  tell  Mr.  Vincenza  all  I've  towld  ye,  sor,  for  he's 
kept  his  wurrud  be  me,  an'  I'd  ha  kep  mine  be  him 
an'  niver  whispered  all  this  only,  ye  see,  it  was  a 
quare  thing,  an'  it  bothered  me,  an'  bein'  as  I  have 
a  great  rispict  for  yer  family,  Mr.  Ffrench  an' " 

"  Make  your  mind  quite  easy,  Denny,"  said  Ger- 


1 88  THE  LAST   OF  THE    COSTELLOS. 

aid.  "  You've  done  no  harm  in  telling  me  this.  As 
you  say,  it  happened  in  Ireland  and  this  is  Califor- 
nia. I  came  out  on  purpose  to  see  Mr.  Vincenza — 
here,  I'll  read  you  my  card.  All  it  says  is,  "  Please 
come  over  to  San  Luis  as  soon  as  possible ;  most 
important  business." 

Half  an  hour  later  a  mustang  loped  out  of  the 
square  and  vanished  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Stefano 
was  in  the  saddle  and  he  carried  Ffrench's  card  in 
his  pocket. 

Sefior  Vincenza  appeared  the  following  morning 
just  as  Gerald  had  finished  breakfast.  The  ranchero 
remembered  the  representative  of  the  "  Evening 
Mail"  and  greeted  him  cordially,  expressing  his  sur- 
prise at  Gerald's  presence  in  that  part  of  the  coun- 
try. The  Spaniard  evidently  imagined  that  this 
unexpected  visit  had  some  bearing  on  the  recently 
decided  law-suit,  but  the  other's  first  words  dis- 
pelled the  illusion. 

"  Sefior  Vincenza,"  Ffrench  said,  "  I  have  heard  a 
very  strange  story  about  your  sister,  and  I  have 
come  to  ask  you  for  an  explanation  of  it." 

The  young  Spaniard  changed  color  and  looked 
uneasily  at  the  journalist.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  I  do  not  understand  you.  My  sister 
is  in  Europe." 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS.      189 

"  Yes,"  answered  Gerald,  "  she  is  in  Europe — in 
Ireland — she  fills  a  nameless  grave  in  Drim  Church- 
yard." 

Vincenza  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  the  cigarette  he 
had  lighted  dropped  from  his  fingers.  They  were  in 
Gerald's  room  at  the  hotel,  and  the  young  man  had 
placed  his  visitor  so  that  the  table  was  between 
them.  He  suspected  that  he  might  have  to  deal 
with  a  desperate  man.  Vincenza  leaned  over  the 
narrow  table,  and  his  breath  blew  hot  in  Ffrench's 
face  as  he  hissed  :  "  Carrambo !  What  do  you 
mean  ?  How  much  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  know  everything.  I  know  how  she  died  in 
the  carriage  on  your  way  from  Mullingar,  how  you 
purchased  a  coffin  and  bribed  the  Kinnegad  under- 
taker to  silence ;  how  you  laid  her,  in  the  dead  of 
night,  among  the  weeds  in  the  graveyard  ;  how  you 
cut  her  name  from  the  chatelaine  bag,  and  did  all 
in  your  power  to  hide  her  identity.  Do  you  recog- 
nize that  photograph ;  have  you  ever  seen  that  coat 
of  arms  before  ?  "  and  Ffrench  drew  the  two  cards 
from  his  pocket  and  offered  them  to  Vincenza. 

The  Spaniard  brushed  them  impatiently  aside 
and  crouched  for  a  moment  as  if  to  spring.  Gerald 
never  took  his  eyes  off  him,  and  presently  the  other 
straightened  up,  and,  sinking  into  the  chair  behind 


190      THE  LAST  OF  THE  COSTELLOS. 

him,  attempted  to  roll  a  cigarette.  But  his  hand 
trembled  and  half  the  tobacco  was  spilled  on  the 
floor. 

"  You  know  a  great  deal,  Mr.  Gerald  Ffrench. 
Do  you  accuse  me  of  my  sister's  murder  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Gerald.  "  She  died  from  nat- 
ural causes.  But  I  do  accuse  you  of  fraudulently 
withholding  this  property  from  its  rightful  owners, 
and  of  acting  on  a  '  power  of  attorney '  which  has 
been  cancelled  by  the  death  of  the  giver." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  broken  only  by  a 
muttered  oath  from  Vincenza  as  he  threw  the  unfin- 
ished cigarette  to  the  ground,  and  began  to  roll  an- 
other— this  time  with  better  success.  It  was  not 
till  it  was  fairly  alight  that  he  spoke  again. 

11  Listen  to  me,  young  man,"  he  said,  "and  then 
judge  me  as  you  hope  to  be  judged  hereafter — with 
mercy.  My  sister  was  very  dear  to  me — I  loved  her 
— oh,  God,  how  I  loved  her  !  "  His  voice  broke  and 
Gerald,  recalling  certain  details  in  Denny's  narrative, 
felt  that  the  Spaniard  was  speaking  the  truth.  It 
was  nearly  a  minute  before  Vincenza  recovered  his 
self-command  and  resumed. 

"  Yes,  we  were  very  dear  to  each  other ;  brought 
up  as  brother  and  sister,  how  could  we  fail  to  be  ? 
But  her  father  never  liked  me,  and  he  placed  re- 


THE  LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS.  1 91 

strictions  upon  the  fortune  he  left  her  so  that  it 
could  never  come  to  me.  My  mother — our  mother 
— had  died  some  years  before.  Well,  Catalina  was 
wealthy ;  I  was  a  pauper,  but  that  made  no  differ- 
ence while  she  lived.  We  were  as  happy  and  fond 
a  brother  and  sister  as  the  sun  ever  shone  upon. 
When  she  came  of  age  she  executed  the  (  power  of 
attorney  '  that  gave  me  the  charge  of  her  estate.  She 
was  anxious  to  spend  a  few  years  in  Europe.  I  was 
to  take  her  over,  and,  after  we  had  travelled  a  little, 
she  was  to  go  to  a  convent  in  France  and  spend 
some  time  there,  while  I  returned  home.  But  she 
was  one  of  the  old  Costellos,  and  she  was  anxious  to 
visit  the  ancient  home  of  her  race.  That  was  what 
brought  us  to  Ireland." 

"  I  thought  the  Costello  family  was  extinct,"  ob- 
served Gerald. 

"  The  European  branch  has  been  extinct  since 
1813,  when  Don  Lopez  Costello  fell  at  Vitoria ; 
but  the  younger  branch,  which  settled  in  Mexico 
toward  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  survived 
until  a  few  months  ago  ;  until  Catalina's  death,  in 
fact,  for  she  was  the  last  of  the  Costellos." 

"  I  see,"  said  Gerald.     "  Go  on." 

"  She  was  very  proud  of  the  name,  poor  Catalina, 
and  she  made  me  promise,  in  case  anything  hap- 


192  THE    LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

pened  to  her  while  we  were  abroad,  that  she  should 
be  laid  in  the  ancient  grave  of  her  race — in  the 
churchyard  of  Drim.  She  had  a  weak  heart,  and 
she  knew  that  she  might  die  suddenly.  I  promised. 
And  it  was  on  our  way  to  the  spot  she  was  so  anx- 
ious to  visit  that  death  claimed  her — only  a  few 
miles  from  the  place  where  her  ancestors  had  lived 
in  the  old  days,  and  where  all  that  remains  of  them 
has  long  moldered  to  dust.  So  you  see,  Mr. 
Ffrench,  that  I  had  no  choice  but  to  lay  her  there." 

"  That  is  not  the  point,"  insisted  Gerald.  "  Why 
this  secrecy  ?  Why  this  flight  ?  Dr.  Lynn,  I  am 
sure,  would  have  enabled  you  to  obey  your  sister's 
request  in  the  full  light  of  day — you  need  not  have 
thrown  her  coffin  on  the  ground,  and  left  to 
strangers  the  task  of  doing  for  the  poor  girl  the  last 
duties  of  civilization."  Gerald  spoke  with  indig- 
nant heat,  for  this  looked  to  him  like  the  crudest 
desertion. 

"  I  know  how  it  must  seem  to  you,"  answered 
Vincenza,  "  and  I  have  no  excuse  to  offer  for  my 
conduct  but  this.  My  sister's  death  would  have 
given  all  she  possessed  to  people  whom  she  disliked. 
It  would  have  thrown  me,  whom  she  loved,  penni- 
less on  the  world.  I  acted  as  if  she  was  still  liv- 
ing, and  as  I  am  sure  she  would  have  wished  me  to 


THE   LAST   OF  THE   COSTELLOS.  193 

act ;  no  defence,  I  know,  in  your  eyes ;  but  consider 
the  temptation." 

"  And  did  you  not  realize  that  all  this  must  come 
out  some  day  ?  "  asked  Ffrench. 

"  Yes,  but  not  for  several  years.  Indeed,  I  can- 
not imagine  how  you  have  stumbled  on  the 
truth." 

And  Gerald,  remembering  the  extraordinary 
chain  of  circumstances  which  had  led  him  to  the 
root  of  the  mystery,  could  not  but  acknowledge 
that,  humanly  speaking,  Vincenza's  confidence  was 
justified. 

"And  now  that  you  have  found  this  out,  what 
use  do  you  intend  to  make  of  it  ?"  asked  the 
Spaniard,  after  a  pause. 

"  I  shall  publish  the  whole  story  as  soon  as 
I  return  to  San  Francisco,"  answered  Gerald, 
promptly. 

"  So,  for  a  few  hundred  dollars,  which  is  all  that 
you  can  possibly  get  out  of  it,  you  will  make  a  beg- 
gar of  me  ?  " 

"  Right  is  right,"  said  the  young  Irishman. 
"  This  property  does  not  belong  to  you  ?  " 

"  Will  you  hold  your  tongue — or  your  pen — for 
$50,000  ?  "  asked  the  Spanard,  eagerly. 

"  No,  nor  for  every  dollar  you  have  in  the  world. 
13 


194  THE   LAST   OF   THE    COSTELLOS. 

I  don't  approve  of  your  practice,  and  I  won't  share 
your  plunder.  I  am  sorry  for  you  personally,  but  I 
can't  help  that.  I  won't  oust  you.  I  will  make 
such  use  of  the  story  as  any  newspaper  man  would 
make,  and  so  I  give  you  fair  warning.  You  may 
save  yourself  if  you  can." 

"  Then  you  do  not  intend  to  communicate  with 
the  heirs,"  began  Vincenza,  eagerly. 

"  I  neither  know  nor  care  who  they  are,"  inter- 
rupted Gerald.  "  I  am  not  a  detective,  save  in  the 
way  of  my  profession,  and  I  shall  certainly  not 
tell  what  I  have  discovered  to  any  individual  till 
I  give  it  to  the  press." 

"And  that  will  be  ?"  asked  the  Spaniard. 

"  As  soon  as  I  return  to  San  Francisco,"  answered 
Ffrench  ;  "  it  may  appear  in  a  week  or  less." 

"  Thank  you,  Seflor  :  good  morning,"  said  Vin- 
cenza, rising  and  leaving  the  room. 

Three  days  later  Seftor  Miguel  Vincenza  sailed 
on  the  outgoing  Pacific  Mail  Steamer,  bound  for 
Japan  and  China.  He  probably  took  a  consider- 
able sum  of  money  with  him,  for  the  heirs  of  Cata- 
lina  Costello  y  Ugarte  found  the  affairs  of  the  de- 
ceased in  a  very  tangled  state,  and  the  ranch  was 
mortgaged  for  nearly  half  its  value. 

Gerald  Ffrench's  story  occupied  four  pages  of  the 


THE  LAST  OF   THE    COSTELLOS.  1 95 

next  issue  of  the  "  Golden  Fleece,"  and  was  widely 
copied  and  commented  upon  over  two  continents. 
Larry,  the  groom  at  Ballyvore,  read  the  account  in 
his  favorite  Westmeath  "  Sentinel,"  and,  as  he  laid 
the  paper  down,  exclaimed  in  wonder  : 
"  Begob,  he  found  her  ! " 


UNDER    THE    REDWOOD    TREE. 


UNDER  THE   REDWOOD  TREE. 


"  YES,  you  kin  hev  breakfast ;  but  about  a  team 
-wall,  I'll  see." 

Thus  spoke  the  clerk  of  the  Eureka  House,  a 
young  man  of  aggressive  manners,  whose  stubbly 
black  hair  stood  out  from  his  head  as  if  bristling 
defiance  toward  every  point  of  the  compass.  He 
looked  harassed,  and  had  laid  aside  his  coat.  This 
might  be  the  usual  way  of  welcoming  the  coming 
guest  in  Humboldt  County,  but  Gerald  Ffrench  did 
not  appreciate  it.  He  was  fresh  from  twenty-four 
hours  of  an  ocean  not  always  so  pacific  as  its  name, 
and  the  floor  seemed  to  heave  under  his  feet  like*  the 
deck  of  the  little  steamer  that  had  brought  him 
from  San  Francisco.  He  silently  accepted  the  di- 
rection of  the  clerk's  finger  and  entered  the  dining- 
room. 

The  regular  breakfast-hour  at  the  Eureka  House 
was  past  and  the  long  table  had  been  cleared  off,  ex- 
cept at  the  extreme  end,  where  a  little  oasis  of  doubt- 


200  UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE. 

ful  tablecloth  dotted  with  dishes  relieved  the  barren 
expanse  of  stained  redwood.  Thither  Gerald  was 
marshalled  by  a  communistic-looking  waiter,  who 
simplified  the  young  gentleman's  choice  of  viands 
by  remarking,  "  There's  beefsteak." 

"  Nothing  else  ?  "  inquired  Ffrench,  dropping  into 
his  place  with  a  half-bow  to  a  gentleman  already 
seated  opposite. 

"  And  coffee,"  said  the  waiter. 

"  Beefsteak  and  coffee  be  it,"  answered  Gerald, 
seeking  vainly  for  a  napkin.  Then,  as  he  raised  his 
eyes  from"  the  futile  search,  he  became  conscious 
that  his  fellow-guest  was  regarding  him  intently 
across  the  narrow  table. 

"  You'll  know  me  again  if  you  see  me,  my  friend," 
thought  young  Ffrench,  and  then,  being  little 
troubled  with  false  modesty,  he  returned  the  stare 
with  interest. 

The  other  drummed  lightly  on  the  board  with 
his  knife  and  never  wavered  in  his  unwinking  gaze. 
He  was  a  big  man,  with  broad  shoulders  and  mighty 
chest ;  and  if  his  length  of  limb  were  at  all  propor- 
tionate to  his  apparent  height  as  he  sat,  his  stature 
should  be  almost  gigantic.  A  pair  of  blue  eyes 
lighted  up  a  shrewd,  good-natured  face,  clean  shaven 
except  on  the  chin,  whence  depended  a  long  auburn 


UNDER   THE   REDWOOD   TREE.  2OI 

beard.  His  age  might  have  been  fifty  or  more,  and 
his  costume  was  the  most  elaborate  that  Gerald  had 
yet  seen  in  Eureka ;  for  not  only  did  the  stranger 
boast  a  white  collar  and  a  neck-ribbon,  but  a  frock 
coat  of  black  cloth  was  buttoned  across  his  broad 
breast.  There  is  something  reassuring  in  a  frock 
coat,  especially  on  the  outskirts  of  civilization.  If  it 
is  not  worn  by  a  gambler  it  is  pretty  sure  to  be  the 
property  of  a  self-respecting  man,  and  the  garment 
in  question,  though  of  country  cut  and  too  wide  for 
its  wearer,  big  as  he  was,  had  its  effect  on  the  young 
traveller. 

Finding  this  wordless  communion  of  eyes  grow- 
ing intolerable,  Gerald  broke  the  silence  with  a 
casual  remark  suggested  by  the  service  of  the  hotel. 

"  You  come  in  by  the  Pelican,  I  suppose  ?  "  said 
the  big  man,  wholly  ignoring  young  Ffrench's  ob- 
servation, and  settling  down,  with  obvious  enjoy- 
ment, to  a  system  of  cross-examination. 

Gerald  admitted  that  he  had  so  come. 

"  A  great  steamer  the  Pelican,  entirely,"  resumed 
the  other.  "  She  was  built  for  a  blockade-runner, 
I  suppose  you  know." 

"  I  didn't  know,"  answered  the  younger  man ; 
"but  I  should  say  she  was  quick  enough  and  un- 
comfortable enough  for  anything." 


202  UNDER    THE  REDWOOD   TREE. 

"  Comfort  !  "  sniffed  the  big  fellow,  with  an  inde- 
scribable inflection  of  contempt.  "  But  I  suppose 
ye're  used  to  it  down  the  coast.  You  come  from — 
eh?" 

"  I  came  from  the  bay  yesterday,"  answered  Ger- 
ald ;  and  then,  divining  from  the  other's  look  of 
bewilderment  that  this  description  of  the  city  of  the 
Golden  Gate  might  not  be  so  all-sufficing  in 
Northern  California  as  in  the  southern  counties, 
he  added,  "  from  San  Francisco,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  ay,  Frisco  !  We  don't  know  nothin'  of 
any  other  bay  here  but  Humboldt  Bay,  an'  I  was 
just  wonderin'  what  kind  o'  fish  you  might  be,"  said 
the  stranger,  breaking  into  a  hearty  jolly  bass 
laugh  that  was  pleasant  to  hear.  He  threw  back 
his  great  head  and  showed  every  one  of  an  enviable 
set  of  teeth  as  he  roared  at  his  own  little  joke  with 
a  simplicity  that  was  not  without  its  attraction. 
But  at  this  moment  the  waiter  entered,  and  the 
gentleman's  mirth  abruptly  ceased.  He  seemed  to 
case  himself  in  a  visible  armor  of  dignity,  as  if 
ashamed  that  he  had  so  unbent,  and  he  addressed 
the  attendant  in  his  gruffest  tones. 

"  That's  the  steak,  eh  ?  Very  well.  Now  tell 
Partridge  to  bring  my  team  around  in  twenty  min- 
utes." 


UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE.  2O3 

"  I  will,  Mr.  Kearney,"  answered  the  waiter,  slap- 
ping Gerald's  portion  down  with  a  fine  air  of  indif- 
ference and  moving  toward  the  door. 

"Say!"  Ffrench  called  after  him.  "Do  you 
know  if  that  clerk  of  yours  has  made  up  his  mind  if 
he  can  let  me  have  something  to  drive  to  Tacara  ?  " 

The  waiter  evidently  heard,  for  he  looked  back, 
but  he  left  the  room  without  condescending  to 
reply.  Gerald  turned  to  his  plate  with  a  muttered 
oath  and  was  conscious  of  a  growing  desire  to  kick 
somebody — that  cub  of  a  waiter,  for  instance.  The 
coffee  was  vile  and  the  steak  utterly  unmanageable. 
Ffrench  enviously  watched  his  neighbor  gnawing 
placidly  through  the  tough,  leathery  mass  and 
drinking  the  liquid  libel  without  a  wiy  face.  The 
young  traveller  was  in  anything  but  a  good  temper, 
and  yet  he  could  hardly  help  smiling  as  he  noticed 
how  comically  the  red  beard  wagged  in  unison  with 
the  regular  motion  of  the  big  man's  jaw.  Presently 
the  latter  paused  a  moment. 

"  From  Frisco,  eh  ?  "  he  remarked,  slowly.  "  Now 
I  wouldn't  wonder  if  ye  come  up  after  ducks." 

"  Well,  I  didn't,"  retorted  Gerald,  snappishly. 
"  There  are  plenty  of  ducks  there." 

"  So  there  are,  so  there  are,"  said  Mr.  Kearney,  in 
the  soothing  tone  he  might  have  adopted  to  a  frac- 


204  UNDER   THE   REDWOOD   TREE. 

tious  child  ;  "  but  there  ain't  much  except  ducks 
here — ducks  an'  redwoods." 

"  Perhaps  I  came  after  the  redwoods,"  replied 
Gerald,  amused  in  spite  of  himself  at  the  other's 
manner. 

"  Well,  ye  might.     Goin'  lumberin',  eh  ?  " 

"  No.  I'm  a  correspondent  of  the  San  Francisco 
'  Evening  Mail,'  and  I've  come  here  to  write  up  the 
lumber  industry." 

"  So,  a  correspondent,"  Mr.  Kearney  pronounced 
the  word  as  if  the  young  journalist  had  been  impli- 
cated in  divorce  proceedings, — "  a  correspondent ; 
an'  ye  want  to  go  to  Tacara  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  I  can  get  a  team — or  even  an  answer — 
in  this  hole,"  replied  Ffrench,  his  indignation  boil- 
ing to  the  surface  again. 

"  Well,  I'm  goin',  an'  I'll  drive  ye  over  with  pleas- 
ure." 

"  No  !  will  you  really  ?  I'll  be  very  much  ob- 
liged," answered  Gerald,  eagerly. 

"  No  obligation  in  life,"  returned  the  big  man. 
"  Ye're  as  welcome  as  the  flowers  in  May ;  an'  as 
I'm  in  the  lumber  business  there  myself,  maybe  I 
can  give  you  a  few  points  will  come  in  handy." 

Ffrench  expressed  himself,  as  he  felt,  very  grate- 
ful for  this  timely  and  unlooked-for  kindness. 


UNDER   THE   REDWOOD   TREE.  2O5 

"  Finish  your  food,  then,  an'  we'll  start,"  said 
Kearney}  whose  empty  plate  bore  witness  that  he 
practised  what  he  preached. 

"  Finish  my  food  !  "  cried  'Gerald,  hotly.  "  I've 
had  all  the  leather  I  want  for  one  morning.  " 

"  Ah,  ye're  used  to  comfort  down  the  coast,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Kearney,  meditatively,  as  he  rose.  Ger- 
ald, though  above  middle  height,  felt  like  a  pigmy 
beside  the  big  man  as  the  latter  dropped  a  great 
hand  familiarly  on  his  shoulder  and  half  steered, 
half  pushed  him  toward  the  door.  Before  they  left 
the  dining-room  Kearney  paused  a  moment. 

"  I've  had  comforts,  too,  an'  like  'em,"  he  said. 
"  I  was  down  to  Frisco  once  an'  dined  at  the  Poodle 
Dog  restoorant ;  "  and  with  a  chuckle  at  the  recol- 
lection of  a  pleasant  event  in  his  life  he  passed  out 
into  the  office. 

Gerald  paused  a  moment  to  pay  for  the  breakfast 
he  had  not  eaten,  and  the  warlike  clerk  remarked, 
with  ill-dissembled  delight,  that  no  team  could  be 
had  till  evening — "  maybe  not  then." 

Gerald  did  not  attempt  to  disguise  the  satisfac- 
tion with  which  he  retorted  that  if  there  were 
twenty  teams  he  would  not  take  one  of  them,  and 
catching  up  his  light  valise  he  left  the  Eureka 
House.  The  clerk  looked  after  him  with  a  vindic- 


206  UNDER   THE  REDWOOD    TREE. 

tive  expression,  as  if  debating  whether  it  was  worth 
while  to  pursue  and  chastise  the  parting  guest ; 
but  seeing  the  young  man  take  his  place  in  Mr. 
Kearney's  carriage,  he  subsided  behind  the  counter, 
conscious  that  there  was  no  prospect  of  another 
stranger  till  the  next  arrival  of  the  Pelican,  three 
days  hence. 

The  stout  road-wagon  was  drawn  by  a  good-look- 
ing pair  of  American  horses — in  California  so  called 
as  distinguished  from  mustangs — and  they  drove 
through  Eureka  at  a  rapid  pace.  Mr.  Kearney 
pulled  up  at  the  outskirts  of  the  town  in  front  of  a 
small  general  store. 

"  Catch  on  to  them  lines,"  he  remarked,  handing 
the  reins  to  his  companion ;  "I'll  keep  ye  no  time 
waiting."  And  he  swung  his  bulky  form  out  of  the 
wagon,  which  rebounded  when  relieved  of  his 
weight.  With  a  single  gigantic  stride  he  crossed 
the  narrow  sidewalk  and  vanished  in  the  shop.  He 
reappeared  after  a  brief  interval  with  sundry  pack- 
ages in  his  hands  and  a  small  bundle  of  gaily 
painted  toy  balloons  attached  to  his  button-hole. 

"  D'ye  know  what  them  are  for  ?  "  he  inquired  as 
he  set  the  team  in  motion. 

"  I  should  say  you  have  some  little  folks  at 
home,"  answered  Gerald,  smiling. 


UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE.  2O/ 

"  I  have  a  boy,  sir,"  replied  Kearney,  beaming 
with  delight.  "  The  cutest  little  beggar  in  the 
State  o'  California,  an'  that's  sayin'  a  big  word.  But 
sure  what  call  have  I  to  be  talkin'  about  him  ? 
Won't  you  see  him  yourself  ?  " 

Gerald  expressed  the  happiness  he  would  feel  at 
making  the  young  gentleman's  acquaintance. 

"  I  don't  know  :  ye  come  from  Frisco,  an'  ye  see 
more  down  there  nor  we  do ;  but  I'd  back  him  agen 
any  lad  o'  his  age  an'  weight  under  the  canopy ;  and 
as  for  learnin' — but  there  !  Jimmy  shall  have  every 
chance,  so  he  shall.  It  isn't  up  here  among  the  red- 
woods that  I'm  going  to  raise  him." 

"  Fine  country,  though,"  remarked  Gerald,  look- 
ing around  him.  They  were  clear  of  the  town  by 
this  time,  and  on  a  steep,  miry  road,  which  skirted 
the  shores  of  the  bay,  making  frequent  turns  to 
avoid  the  long  "  tide-waters  "  which  ran  up  to  the 
very  foot  of  the  wooded  hills  bordering  the  track  to 
the  right — tall,  abrupt  hills,  clothed  to  their  sum- 
mits with  the  gigantic  redwoods  that  make  the 
wealth  of  Humboldt  County. 

It  was  a  bright  autumn  morning,  succeeding  a 
week  of  almost  incessant  rain,  and  the  atmosphere 
was  so  clear  that  the  range  of  vision  seemed  limit- 
less. The  air  was  calm  and  still,  but  up  among  the 


2O8  UNDER    THE   REDWOOD    7'REE. 

lofty  forest  tops  there  was  an  incessant  trembling 
and  rustling,  as  though  a  breeze  were  stirring  there. 
At  every  turn  of  the  road  a  little  pond  disclosed 
itself:  none  of  the  deeply  shaded  hollows  seemed 
to  be  without  one — some  far  off,  sending  a  gleam  of 
silver  through  the  columned  forest,  others  almost 
at  the  roadside,  and  not  a  few  communicating  with 
the  tide-water.  Wild-fowl  of  all  kinds  dotted  the 
surface  of  these  miniature  lakes,  or  filled  the  air 
with  their  clangor  as  they  rose,  disturbed  by  the 
passing  vehicle.  Gerald  thought  he  had  never  seen 
such  a  woodland  landscape,  and  grew  enthusiastic 
in  its  praise. 

"  It  is  fine,"  admitted  Kearney,  letting  his  eye  rove 
a  moment  over  forest  and  water,  and  then  bringing 
it  back  to  the  matter  in  hand — the  care  of  his  team 
over  a  road-bed  as  rough  as  the  channel  of  a  moun- 
tain torrent.  "  It  is  fine  ;  but  no  place  to  rear  a 
youngster,  for  all  that.'' 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Ffrench. 

"  No  eddication — whoa  !  gently  there,  my  beau- 
ties— an'  I  believe  in  eddication  as  I  believe  in 
lumber ;  there's  nothin'  in  the  world  to  beat  it,  if 
it's  sound." 

"  You're  quite  a  philosopher,  Mr.  Kearney,"  re- 
marked Gerald. 


UNDER   THE   REDWOOD    TREE.  2O9 

The  big  man  turned  square  round  in  his  seat  and 
looked  his  companion  in  the  face. 

"Am  I  labelled,  or  what's  the  matter  with  me 
that  ye  know  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  heard  the  waiter  at  your  most  exclusive  hotel 
address  you  by  name,"  answered  Gerald,  laughing. 

"  It's  none  o'  my  hotel ;  if  it  were — well,  since 
you're  so  wise,  won't  you  make  me  as  wise  as  your- 
self?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  journalist.  "  My  name  is 
Gerald  Ffrench ;  very  much  at  your  service." 

"  Ffrench  !  Ye  ought  to  be  an  Irishman  by  that," 
remarked  Kearney. 

"  Certainly ;  I  was  born  in  the  county  West- 
meath,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"  D'ye  mind  that  now  ?  Give  me  yer  hand,  Mr. 
Ffrench.  I'm  always  proud  to  meet  a  countryman 
in  these  out-o'-the-way  parts." 

"  You're  from  the  old  country,  then  ?  I  might 
have  guessed  as  much." 

"  Well,  you  might,"  returned  the  other.  "  I'm 
from  the  townland  o'  Crogher,  barony  o'  Maghara- 
felth,  county  o'  Limerick,  an'  my  name  is  Michael 
James  Kearney,  an'  I've  never  been  ashamed  of  any 
o'  them.  God  save  Ireland  !  " 

As  the  conclusion  of  this  speech  seemed  to  be  in 
14 


2IO  UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE. 

the  nature  of  a  doxology,  Gerald  did  not  feel  called 
upon  to  make  any  reply,  nor  did  his  companion  ap- 
pear to  expect  one.  Indeed,  his  whole  attention 
was  for  the  moment  occupied  by  his  horses,  which, 
startled  at  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  small  boy 
from  behind  one  of  the  giant  redwood  trunks,  began 
to  plunge  and  rear  in  a  rather  alarming  manner. 

"  Stand  still,  Tom !  Whoa,  Jerry  !  "  cried  Kear- 
ney, quickly  bringing  the  frightened  team  under 
subjection.  Then  he  turned  his  attention  to  the 
immediate  cause  of  the  confusion. 

"  Well,  Jimmy,  is  that  yerself !  Jump  aboard,  my 
boy,  an'  see  what  I've  brought  ye  from  Eureka." 

"  Hurrah  !  I  see  something  anyway,"  answered 
Jimmy,  whose  sunburned  features,  beneath  a  shock 
of  red  hair,  bore  a  curious  resemblance  to  those  of 
Mr.  Kearney.  The  child,  whose  age  might  have 
been  seven  or  eight,  climbed  into  the  wagon  with 
the  agility  of  a  monkey,  and  immediately  grasped 
at  the  little  plump  of  balloons,  which,  to  Gerald's 
intense  though  secret  amusement,  had  danced  and 
floated  above  Mr.  Kearney's  head  all  the  way  from 
Eureka. 

"  Have  some  behavior,  Jimmy  !  "  expostulated 
that  gentleman  in  a  bass  whisper ;  "  don't  you  see 
some  one  there  ?  " 


UNDER    THE  REDWOOD   TREE.  211 

"  Who  is  he,  Dad  ? "  inquired  Jimmy,  not  the 
least  abashed,  and  without  taking  the  trouble  to 
moderate  his  voice.  "  Tisn't  the  new  ox-hand,  is 
it?" 

"  No,  it's  a  gentleman,"  answered  his  father ;  and 
then,  turning  to  Gerald  with  a  smile,  half-deprecat- 
ing, half-embarrassed,  and  wholly  winning,  he 
added,  "  Ye  see,  I  told  ye  this  was  no  place  to  raise 
a  boy." 

"  I  think  you've  raised  as  fine  a  boy  as  I've 
clapped  eyes  on  for  many  a  day,"  rejoined  Ffrench, 
heartily.  "  You'll  take  me  round  to-morrow  and 
show  me  where  I  can  get  a  shot  at  a  duck,  won't 
you,  Jimmy  ?  " 

"  I  will ;  an'  if  Dad  will  let  me,  I  think  I  can  find 
you  a  bear,"  cried  the  youngster,  eagerly. 

This  was  more  than  Gerald  had  bargained  for, 
but  he  contented  himself  with  saying,  "  Oh,  we'll 
look  for  the  duck  first ; "  and  then  added,  as  an 
after-thought,  "  but  surely  your  father  doesn't  let 
you  go  where  you'd  meet  such  dangerous  game  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  does,  when  he  goes  himself,"  answered 
young  Nimrod.  "  There  isn't  much  he  doesn't  let 
me  do,  anyhow." 

There  was  something  of  apology  in  Mr.  Kear- 
ney's tone  as  he  hastened  to  explain  his  son's  in- 


212'  UNDER    THE  REDWOOD    TREE. 

dependence  by  his  invariable  formula,  "  You  see, 
this  ain't  no  place  to  raise  a  boy,  anyhow." 

The  drive  from  Eureka  had  been  long,  though 
pleasant,  and  Gerald,  arguing  from  the  presence  of 
the  child  that  his  destination  was  at  hand,  vent- 
ured to  ask  if  it  was  much  farther  to  Tacara.  He 
was  emboldened  by  observing  that  the  road,  which 
had  run  through  a  sylvan  solitude  for  many  miles, 
now  showed  occasional  signs  of  life — a  logger's  hut 
peeped  here  and  there  from  among  the  trees,  a 
wreath  of  smoke  curled  up  from  the  hillside,  and 
occasionally  the  bark  of  a  dog  broke  the  silence  as 
the  wagon  passed.  But  though  not  without  cir- 
cumstantial evidence  of  human  habitation,  the  re- 
gion seemed  to  Gerald  as  wild  and  desolate  as 
ever.  Therefore  he  was  the  more  surprised  at  Mr. 
Kearney's  answer. 

"  Tacara  !    We  passed  through  it  ten  minutes  ago." 

Gerald  gasped  : 

"  Those  cabins  and— 

"  Yes,  that's  all  the  Tacara  there  is  to  it." 

"  Where  am  I  going  then  ?  '' 

"  Home  with  me,  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Kearney, 
heartily  ;  "  and  if  ye  can  enjoy  yerself  as  I'd  like  to 
have  ye,  it's  not  very  soon  ye'll  be  wantin'  to  leave 
me." 


UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE.  21$ 

Here  was  a  hearty  invitation,  most  opportunely 
extended.  Gerald  was  glad  to  accept  it  in  the 
spirit  in  which  it  was  offered,  the  more  so  as  he  had 
gathered  that  Mr.  Kearney  was  the  great  lumber 
dealer  of  the  district,  and  in  fact  the  founder  and 
maintainer  of  Tacara.  From  no  such  point  of  van- 
tage as  Kearney's  house  could  the  journalist  have 
hoped  to  study  the  staple  of  Humboldt. 

The  team  drew  up  before  a  spacious,  substantial 
residence,  built  of  wood,  indeed,  as  was  every  house 
within  a  circuit  of  fifty  miles,  but  well  finished, 
with  glazed  windows  and  shingled  roof,  and  offer- 
ing plain  evidence  of  comfort.  Ffrench  attempted 
a  few  words  of  modest  disclaimer  before  entering, 
but  Mr.  Kearney  cut  him  short. 

"What  nonsense  ye're  talking!  Ye've  come  out 
here  to  write  up  the  redwoods  ;  where  better  could 
ye  go  than  into  the  thick  o'  them  ?  Ye'll  see  little 
and  hear  nothin'  else  ;  an'  as  for  the  trouble — what 
trouble  ?  It's  glad  I  am  to  have  a  countryman  an' 
a  man  of  eddication  to  talk  to  ;  an'  come  in  with 
ye  without  another  word." 

Gerald  found  himself  in  a  low,  square  hall,  panelled 
in  unstained  timber  of  the  country,  and  communi- 
cating with  the  rest  of  the  house  by  doors  of  the 
same  material.  The  evening  was  chilly,  and  a  fire 


214  UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE. 

of  logs  was  burning  brightly.  The  floor  was  cov- 
ered with  the  skins  of  bear  and  of  several  species  of 
wildcat.  Half  a  dozen  rifles  and  shot-guns  de- 
pended from  a  rack  on  the  wall.  It  was  a  comfort- 
able apartment,  and  as  the  tired  traveller  seated 
himself  and  stretched  his  toes  toward  the  welcome 
blaze  he  could  not  but  acknowledge  that  his  lines 
had  fallen  in  pleasant  places. 

Presently  Jimmy  reappeared.  He  had  insisted 
on  accompanying  the  man  who  had  driven  the  team 
to  the  stable,  and  he  came  back  full  of  the  exu- 
berant life  of  youth  and  perfect  health.  He  was 
anxious  to  pilot  Gerald  forth  before  dark  in  search 
of  a  duck,  but  to  this  the  young  man  would  in  no 
wise  consent.  He  preferred  to  sit  by  the  fire  and 
chat  with  his  host,  whom  he  found  a  singularly 
well-informed  man,  allowing  for  the  limitations  his 
secluded  life  had  imposed.  With  every  detail  of 
lumbering  he  was  naturally  familiar  ;  and  as  this 
was  the  subject  of  conversation,  Gerald  was  perhaps 
inclined  to  give  him  credit  for  more  intelligence 
than  he  really  possessed.  The  correspondent's  note- 
book was  called  into  frequent  use  ;  he  learned  all 
the  history  of  the  great  trees  from  the  moment 
they  were  attacked  with  saws  and  axes  on  their 
lonely  hillsides,  till,  having  been  dragged  down  by 


UNDER    THE   REDWOOD    TREE.  21$ 

yokes  of  oxen  from  their  steep  fastnesses,  one  log 
at  a  time,  they  were  passed  through  the  saw-mill  on 
the  level  or  floated  down  the  nearest  tide-water  to 
the  bay. 

Presently  a  substantial  supper  made  its  appear- 
ance— quail,  wild  duck,  and  the  remains  of  a  cold 
rabbit-pie,  flanked  by  a  large  wheaten  loaf  and  a  jug 
of  capital  cider.  As  soon  as  full  justice  had  been 
done  to  these  good  things  the  host  produced  pipes 
and  a  bottle  of  whiskey,  and  over  these  the  inter- 
view was  concluded,  to  Gerald's  pleasure  and  profit. 
Mr.  Kearney  as  he  rose  invited  the  young  man  to 
visit  the  saw-mill  on  the  following  morning. 

"  Ye'll  have  a  walk  through  two  or  three  mile 
o'  redwood  forest  to  get  there,"  said  the  big  man, 
"  an'  that's  an  experience  worth  havin'  ;  an  there  ye 
can  see  how  the  cattle  start  some  o'  them  big  logs 
down  to  tide-water,  an' — an' — in  fact,  ye'll  have  lots 
to  see,  an'  I  won't  ask  no  better  fun  than  showin' 
ye.  An'  now  good-night  to  ye,  for  the  sun  never 
sees  me  in  bed  any  mornin'  barrin'  Sunday." 

Gerald's  room  was  small  but  well  ventilated  and 
scrupulously  clean,  and  his  bed  was  comfortable 
enough  to  wring  from  him  a  sigh  at  leaving  it 
when  his  host  thundered  at  the  door  and  a  gray 
misty  light  struggling  through  an  eastern  window 


2l6  UNDER    THE   REDWOOD    TREE. 

showed  that  the  day  was  at  hand.  A  hearty 
breakfast,  accompanied  by  better  coffee  than  young 
Ffrench  had  expected  to  find  so  far  from  civiliza- 
tion, occupied  half  an  hour  or  so,  and  the  sun  had 
fairly  risen  when  they  stepped  out  under  the  red- 
woods. 

Gerald  never  forgot  that  morning  walk.  The 
redwood  forest  has  little  or  no  underbrush,  and 
the  giant  trunks  rise  sheer  from  the  ground,  un- 
marred  by  branch  or  twig,  till,  spreading  out  a 
hundred  feet  overhead,  they  meet  to  create  the 
twilight  of  the  grove.  The  two  men  moved  on 
amid  a  solitude  that  seemed  unbroken  since  the 
world  began  ;  their  steps  were  noiseless  on  the  soft 
carpet  of  pine-needles,  shed  during  uncounted  ages 
from  the  giants  above  them.  The  pillared  vistas 
extended  on  all  sides,  sombre,  silent,  awe-inspiring. 
Ffrench  felt  as  if  he  were  traversing  the  aisles  of 
some  cathedral,  but  incomparably  older,  vaster, 
grander  than  any  built  by  man's  hands,  A  faint 
murmurous  sound— a  sound  that  seemed  the  accom- 
paniment of  silence — stole  down  from  spreading 
boughs  whose  form  and  direction  were  lost  in  their 
own  gloom  and  distance.  Despite  the  deep  calm 
that  weighed  on  all  below,  a  breeze  was  stirring  in 
the  tops  of  the  redwoods. 


UNDER    THE   REDWOOD    7 'REE,  21 7 

Gerald  roused  himself  with  an  impatient  start. 
He  was  growing  sentimental,  and  stanzas  of  the 
"  Talking  Oak  "  flitted  vaguely  through  his  mind 
and  strove  to  adapt  themselves  to  those  "giant 
boles,"  whose  circumference  he  could  scarce  have 
measured  in  a  dozen  paces.  He  looked  at  his  com- 
panion. Surely,  in  an  experience  of  so  many  years, 
Mr.  Kearney  had  outworn  any  emotions  the  forest 
was  capable  of  inspiring  in  his  broad  breast. 

Mr.  Kearney  was  crushing  the  withered  needles 
beneath  his  massive  tread,  and  tracking  his  way  un- 
hesitatingly through  a  labyrinth  that  to  Gerald 
seemed  trackless.  The  black  coat  and  the  white 
collar  that  had  been  donned  in  honor  of  Eureka 
had  given  place  to  a  stout  flannel  shirt,  belted  in  at 
the  waist  ;  and  the  big  man  looked  the  better  for 
the  change — more  solid  and  business-like.  He  was 
glancing  at  the  timber  with  a  practical  eye,  oc- 
casionally pausing  to  rest  his  hand  against  one  of 
the  great  trunks  and  to  glance  upward,  as  if  to  es- 
timate how  high  it  ran  before  branching.  The 
young  journalist  'mentally  compared  him  to  a 
butcher  appraising  the  value  of  a  likely  beef  before 
he  ordered  it  slaughtered.  Gerald  loved  fine  tim- 
ber, and  he  spoke  with  this  feeling  strong  in  him. 

"  It  seems  a  sin  and  a  shame  to  cut  down  such 


2l8  UNDER    THE  REDWOOD   TREE. 

trees,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  indignation  in  his 
voice. 

Kearney  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Eh !  That's  the  way  it  seems  to  you,  I  don't 
doubt.  Look  deeper,  man,  look  deeper." 

Gerald  stared  at  him  in  astonishment,  but  Mr. 
Kearney  went  on. 

"It's  the  destiny  of  every  forest  to  be  first  cut 
down  and  then  cut  up  for  the  use  o'  man.  Which 
had  the  biggest  share  of  honor — the  trees  that  was 
left  standin'  in  Tarshish,  or  them  that  was  brought 
to  Jerusalem  to  build  Solomon's  temple  ?" 

Had  Solomon  himself  in  all  his  glory  appeared 
in  one  of  the  dim  arcades  he  could  scarcely  have 
surprised  young  Ffrench  more  than  did  this  utterly 
unlooked-for  reasoning  in  the  man  beside  him. 

"  For  see  here  now,"  pursued  Kearney,  having 
paused  a  moment  for  the  answer  that  did  not  come ; 
"this  tree's  a-growin'  here  an'  has  been  for  a 
thousand  years,  maybe  two  ;  no  man  knows  till 
she's  cut  an'  shows  the  rings  in  her.  Down  she 
comes  to-morrow,  we'll  say,  an'  then  what  ?  May- 
be this  wood  will  floor  a  ball-room,  an'  be  touched 
by  pretty  feet  you'd  sooner  kiss  nor  the  Pope's  ; 
maybe  it'll  build  the  house  that  the  President  of 
the  United  States  '11  be  born  in  ;  maybe  a  bit  of 


UNDER    THE  REDWOOD   TREE.  219 

it'll  be  the  soundin'-board  of  a  pulpit,  an'  echo 
God's  word  preached  to  the  savin'  of  who  knows 
how  many  souls.  Isn't  that  better  for  it  nor 
growin'  an'  rottin'  an'  shakin'  pine-needles  down  on 
your  head  an'  mine  ?  " 

By  this  time  Gerald  had  found  his  tongue.  "  I 
had  no  idea  you  were  so  imaginative,  Mr.  Kearney," 
he  said. 

"  I  dunno  as  it's  all  imagination,"  answered 
Kearney.  "  Maybe  it  is  :  anyhow,  it's  possible,  an' 
one  thing's  sure.  Let  this  timber  stand,  an'  never  a 
foot  but  an  Injun's  will  pass  under  its  shadow  ;  cut 
it  down,  an'  ye  fill  the  bay  with  sails,  ye  put  bread 
in  men's  mouths,  an'  ye  give  me  the  means  o'  doin' 
what  I'm  bound  to  do — makin'  a  man  o'  Jimmy 
such  as  his  father  never  had  the  chance  to  be." 

"  You're  right  and  I'm  wrong,"  cried  Gerald,  some- 
what touched  by  the  earnest  note  in  his  host's  voice 
as  he  uttered  the  last  words.  "  They're  fine  trees  ; 
but  down  with  them,  and  make  a  ladder  for  your 
boy  to  climb  as  high  as  you'd  like  to  see  him." 

Kearney  grasped  the  young  man's  hand.  "  Thank 
ye,  Mr.  Ffrench.  The  boy  '11  climb,  an'  he  can't  go 
too  high  to  please  me.  His  mother,  God  rest  her  ! 
was  the  best  woman  in  the  world,  an'  maybe  she's 
left  some  o'  her  nature  behind  her  with  Jimmy." 


220  UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE. 

"  You  have  lost  her,  then  ?  "  said  Gerald,  softly. 
Somehow  he  felt  drawn  very  close  to  this  kind- 
hearted  giant,  and  the  dim,  sibilant  forest  seemed  a 
fitting  place  for  an  interchange  of  confidences. 

"  Ay,  lost  is  the  word,"  replied  Kearney,  bitterly. 
"  She  lies  somewhere  out  yonder  where  no  man 
will  ever  find  her  grave."  He  waved  his  arm  with 
a  broad  gesture  in  the  direction  of  the  ocean. 
"  Come  on,  Mr.  Ffrench,"  he  continued,  without 
apparent  pause.  "  Ye've  many  a  new  sight  to  see 
to-day,  an'  the  saw-mill's  the  first  o'  them." 

But  when  they  reached  the  mill  all  was  in  con- 
fusion. A  new  ox-hand,  engaged  the  day  before, 
had  yoked  a  score  of  oxen  to  a  great  log  and  started 
it  down  the  hill  on  which  it  had  been  felled,  as  is 
the  manner  of  Pacific  coast  lumbering.  And  an 
accident  had  befallen — not  unheard  of  in  its  fashion, 
but  generally  horrible  in  its  results.  The  load  had 
moved  freely,  the  ground  being  slippery  from  recent 
rain,  till  a  steep  grade  was  reached.  Here  it  broke 
from  control,  and,  gaining  impetus  as  it  slid  down 
the  hillside,  the  great  log  plunged  among  the  oxen, 
killing  and  maiming  more  than  half  the  team. 

So  much  Kearney  heard  with  comparative  com- 
posure. It  was  an  accident  that  had  happened  be- 
fore, and  was  not  always  to  be  prevented  by  any 


UNDER   THE   REDWOOD    TREE.  221 

degree  of  care.  He  expressed  pity  for  the  poor 
oxen,  and  bit  his  lip  as  he  cast  up  the  pecuniary 
loss. 

"  Who  did  ye  say  was  in  charge  ?  "  he  demanded 
presently. 

"  The  new  ox-hand — Jarl,  they  called  him.  He 
was  a  Norway  man,"  answered  the  foreman. 

"  An'  how  did  ye  come  to  set  a  new  hand  to  move 
a  log  out  of  any  such  awkward  place  as  Oorah 
Hill  ?  "  asked  Kearney,  angrily. 

"  Wall,  there  weren't  nobody  else,  and  he  was  an 
old  hand.  He'd  been  lumbering  in  Mendocino,"  ex- 
plained the  foreman. 

"  An'  where  is  he  now  ?  Let  me  say  a  word  to 
him,"  cried  Kearney,  his  temper  evidently  getting 
the  better  of  him. 

The  foreman  fell  back  a  step  and  looked  aghast. 
"Why,  didn't  you  understand?"  he  said.  "Jarl's 
dead ;  the  log  went  over  him  and  crushed  him 
flatter'n  a  pancake." 

An  instant  change  came  over  the  big  man's  face. 
"  Holy  St.  Patrick !  ye  don't  tell  me,"  he  gasped. 
"The  poor  fellow,  the  poor  fellow!  I  wouldn't 
have  had  the  like  happen  for — well,  well,  well !  Mr. 
Ffrench,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  journalist,  who 
had  been  an  interested  listener,  "  I've  been  twenty 


222  UNDER    THE   REDWOOD   TREE. 

odd  years  in  the  lumber  business,  an'  they  call  it  a 
risky  trade,  but  that's  the  first  life  I've  ever  lost 
among  my  men." 

Gerald  attempted  a  few  words  of  sympathy,  but 
Kearney  did  not  seem  to  hear  them.  "  Poor  fellow, 
poor  fellow!"  he  muttered.  "Well,  every  man's 
time's  got  to  come  sooner  or  later,  but  that's  the 
end  o'  my  luck." 

A  low  wailing  cry,  the  voice  of  a  child  sobbing 
in  the  abandonment  of  sorrow,  came  from  a  shed 
on  the  right.  Kearney  started  as  he  heard  it  and 
glanced  nervously  around. 

"  Whisht !  D'ye  hear  that  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Is 

there  a  child  anywhere  here,  or  is  it  the "  He 

paused  as  the  piteous  sob  again  cut  the  silence. 

"  It's  the  child,  his  little  girl,"  said  the  foreman. 
"  She's  been  taking  on  dreadful,  and  no  wonder. 
He  wasn't  much  to  look  at ;  but  he  was  all  she  had, 
I  reckon." 

"  His  child — whose  ?  "  asked  Kearney. 

"  Why,  Jarl's,  to  be  sure.  She  come  up  with 
him  from  Mendocino." 

The  big  man  sank  down  on  a  pile  of  shingles  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  My  God,  my  God !  this  is  too  much,"  he  mur- 
mured. "Is  it  orphans  I'm  makin'  in  me  ould 


UNDER   THE   REDWOOD   TREE.  22$ 

age  ?  "  Then  he  started  to  his  feet  and  dashed  his 
hat  to  the  ground  with  a  sweeping  gesture.  "  To 
hell  wid  the  oxen,  to  hell  wid  the  lumber ! "  he 
shouted.  "  As  for  the  poor  Norway  boy,  there's  a 
good  God  above  that'll  look  out  for  him,  but  I'm 
goin'  to  see  that  this  child  won't  be  left  an  orphan. 
Where  is  she  ?  " 

He  strode  forward  and  entered  the  shed,  Gerald 
keeping  close  behind  him. 

All  that  was  mortal  of  the  poor  Norwegian  lay  on  a 
long  bench  in  one  corner.  The  shockingly  mangled 
form  was  covered  with  a  blanket,  but  the  face  was 
unscathed,  aud  death  had  been  too  sudden  to  leave 
much  trace  on  the  features.  It  was  a  commonplace 
face  of  the  Scandinavian  type — the  face  of  a  peasant. 

A  little  girl,  apparently  about  ten  years  old,  was 
seated  on  a  low  stool  at  the  dead  man's  side.  She 
had  flung  her  blue-checked  apron  over  her  head, 
and  was  moaning  and  rocking  herself  to  and  fro  in 
an  agony  of  grief.  Very  gently,  very  tenderly  the 
big  man  stooped  over  the  child  and  drew  the  apron 
away.  She  glanced  up  and  checked  her  sobs — at 
first  from  astonishment  at  the  sight  of  this  great 
bearded  stranger,  but  she  soon  seemed  to  recognize, 
with  the  intuitive  welcome  sorrow  has  for  sym- 
pathy, that  she  was  looking  at  a  friend. 


224  UNDER    THE  REDWOOD    TREE. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Kearney,  soothingly.  "  Can 
ye  speak  English,  honey  ?" 

The  little  mourner  nodded.  Her  blue  eyes  were 
brightening  through  their  tears,  and  with  an  odd, 
womanly  gesture  she  pushed  the  tangle  of  pale 
wheat-colored  hair  back  from  her  temples.  Kearney 
went  down  on  one  knee  and  lifted  the  girl  on  the 
other. 

"  What's  yer  name,  darlint  ?  "  he  whispered  in  a 
tone  of  indescribable  gentleness.  Gerald  could  not 
but  notice  how  much  more  strongly  marked  was 
the  man's  Irish. accent  since  this  trouble  had  come 
upon  him. 

"  Inga,"  answered  the  child. 

"  Well,  Inga,  will  ye  come  home  wid  me  ?  Ye 
can't  do  anythin'  for  poor  dada,"  he  hastened  to  add 
as  her  eyes  turned  toward  the  motionless  figure  on 
the  bench.  "  Poor  dada's  gone  to  heaven,  an'  all 
that's  to  be  done  for  him  here  I'll  do." 

He  rose  up  to  his  full  magnificent  .height,  still 
holding  the  little  girl  in  his  arms  and  gathering  her 
close  to  his  breast. 

"  Let  me  kiss  my  father,"  pleaded  Inga.  Her 
speech  had  no  trace  of  her  foreign  birth  ;  indeed,  it 
seemed  likely  she  had  first  seen  light  in  the  New 
World. 


UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE.  22$ 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Mr.  Kearney.  His  voice  still 
kept  its  caressing  tone  and  he  did  not  set  the  child 
down,  but  held  her  so  that  she  could  press  her  lips 
to  those  of  the  dead  man.  Then  he  bent  over  the 
poor  Norwegian  and  traced  the  sign  of  the  cross  on 
his  forehead. 

"  I  dunno  what  was  his  way  o'  thinkin',"  he  whis- 
pered, "but  he'll  be  none  the  worse  o' that  anyhow." 

Then,  stooping  his  lofty  head,  Mr.  Kearney 
passed  the  low  door,  crossed  the  mill-yard,  where 
the  hands  all  stopped  to  watch  him,  and  so  out  into 
the  dim,  cool  twilight  of  the  forest,  pressing  the  lit- 
tle orphan  close  to  his  breast. 

Gerald  was  surprised  at  the  impressible  nature 
which  his  host  showed,  and  forebore  for  a  day  or 
two  to  trouble  him  with  the  questions  suggested  by 
the  strange,  new  life  of  the  lumber-camp.  But  the 
big  man's  spirits  recovered  their  tone  very  rapidly, 
and  he  exhibited  the  same  mixture  of  boyish  light- 
ness, shrewd  business  thought,  and  queer,  unex- 
pected imagination  that  had  captivated  Ffrench  in 
the  first  instance.  The  young  man  found  himself 
greatly  taken  with  Kearney,  and  if  he  was  anxious 
to  use  the  lumberman  in  the  interest  of  the  San 
Francisco  "  Evening  Mail,"  that  purpose  was  dis- 
tinctly second  to  his  admiration  for  Mr.  Kearney 's 


226  UNDER   THE   REDWOOD   TREE. 

character.  Meanwhile  Kearney  himself  lived  on 
his  hard-working,  uneventful  life.  The  introduction 
of  little  Inga  into  the  household  must  have  worked 
a  greater  change  than  Gerald  was  able  to  appre- 
ciate, but  she  was  a  quiet,  unobtrusive  child,  and 
seemed  content  to  spend  her  evenings  looking  up 
into  Mr.  Kearney's  face  with  widely  opened  blue 
eyes,  occasionally  pushing  back  the  masses  of  her 
pale  golden  hair  with  a  quaint,  old-fashioned  gest- 
ure. She  and  little  Jimmy  were  wonderful  friends, 
and  there  was  always  a  note  of  compassionate  ten- 
derness in  Mr.  Kearney's  voice  when  he  spoke  to 
her.  Probably  he  was  more  alive  to  the  extent  of 
the  child's  loss  than  she,  better  cared  for  now  than 
ever  in  her  life  before,  could  possibly  have  been. 

So  passed  a  few  days,  and  Ffrench  collected 
many  facts  of  interest  to  the  lumber  trade,  and  shot 
several  ducks  and  quail  and  saw  a  black  bear.  He 
was  fond  of  wandering  in  the  gloom  of  the  redwood 
forest  with  no  companions  but  the  children ;  and 
the  strange,  still  atmosphere  of  the  place,  with  the 
mysterious  rustle  of  that  ever-present  breeze  over- 
head, seemed  to  have  a  soothing  effect  even  on 
Master  Jimmy's  effervescent  spirits.  As  for  Inga, 
whether  it  was  due  to  her  recent  loss  or  was  natural 
to  her,  she  was  always  a  quiet  child. 


UNDER   THE   REDWOOD   TREE.  22? 

The  day  after  her  father's  funeral  the  little  girl 
was  even  more  silent  than  usual.  She  sat  apart, 
weeping  in  corners,  with  her  head  in  her  hands  and 
her  tangled  hair  dropping  unheeded  over  her  face. 
Mr.  Kearney  checked  Jimmy's  rude  play  several 
times  out  of  consideration  to  Inga's  feelings,  and 
the  child  soon  retired,  complaining  of  a  headache. 

The  next  morning  Gerald,  whose  hours  had 
ceased  to  be  so  early  as  those  of  the  rest  of  the 
household,  came  upon  Mr.  Kearney,  equipped  in 
black  coat  and  white  collar,  climbing  into  his  wagon. 

"Hullo I  Where  away  now?"  asked  the  young 
man. 

"  I'm  goin'  into  Eureka/'  answered  Kearney. 
"  I'd  ask  ye  to  take  a  seat,  only  I've  some  one  to 
bring  back  wid  me.  I'm  goin'  after  the  doctor." 

"  Is  there  any  one  ill  ?  "  inquired  Gerald. 

"  N — no,"  said  Kearney,  slowly.  "  Anyway,  I 
want  the  doctor  to  tell  me  whether  there  is  or  no. 
Inga  was  complainin'  of  a  headache  last  night,  an' 
she  has  a  sore  throat  this  mornin'.  Get  up,  Tom  ; 
go  along,  Jerry !  "  And  he  drove  off. 

"  Decidedly  Kearney  means  to  do  his  duty  by 
the  orphan,"  reflected  Gerald,  as  he  strolled  under 
the  redwoods.  "  It's  well  for  her  that  it  was  in  the 
employ  of  a  man  like  that  her  father  lost  his  life." 


228  UNDER    THE   REDWOOD   TREE. 

Mr.  Kearney  returned  with  the  doctor  in  the 
afternoon,  and  Gerald,  arriving  late  from  the  ponds 
with  a  good  bag  of  wild  ducks,  perceived  that  some- 
thing was  amiss  at  the  house.  Little  Jimmy,  in 
evident  spirits,  was  coming  out  of  the  door,  fol- 
lowed by  his  father.  The  latter  carried  a  small  bag 
and  an  armful  of  blankets. 

In  a  few  words  Mr.  Kearney  explained  the  state 
of  affairs.  Inga  had  scarlet  fever,  and  it  was 
thought  better  that  Jimmy  should  sleep  at  the  mill 
for  the  present. 

"  Is  she  very  ill  ?  "  inquired  Ffrench. 

"  No,"  answered  Kearney.  "  The  doctor  says  it's 
a  very  mild  case." 

"  Where  did  she  catch  it  ?  "  asked  the  young  man. 

"  Nobody  knows.  Down  in  Mendocino,  where 
they  come  from,  I  suppose,"  answered  the  lumber 
dealer.  "  The  doctor  says  it's  a  week,  maybe  two, 
since  she  was  where  the  infection  was." 

Kearney  looked  pale  and  worried,  but  Master 
Jimmy,  to  whom  the  idea  of  sleeping  at  the  mill  had 
all  the  attraction  of  a  picnic,  seemed  much  elated. 

Gerald  turned,  and  accompanied  them  through 
the  darkening  shades  of  the  forest. 

"  It's  foolish  I  am,  maybe,"  remarked  Mr.  Kear- 
ney as  he  walked  home  with  Gerald  after  seeing 


UNDER    THE  REDWOOD   TREE.  22Q 

the  boy  made  comfortable  for  the  night,  "  but  I 
can't  help  it.  Sure  Jimmy's  all  I  have,  an'  I  think  the 
world  o'  him  ;  but  this  is  a  poor  place  to  rear  a  lad." 

Gerald  represented  that  Jimmy  would  be  far 
more  exposed  to  infection  in  a  city  or  in  a  great 
school  than  in  a  retired  place  like  Tacara,  but  the 
father  interrupted  impatiently. 

"  It's  not  that  I'm  thinkin'  of.  We've  took  him 
away  from  the  fever  time  enough,  please  God.  It's 
not  that ;  it's  his  eddication.  D'  ye  know,  Mr. 
Ffrench,  that  with  a  fair  start  that  boy  has  a  better 
chance  in  life  than  I  had — ay,  or  you,  for  all  your 
Trinity  College  breeding  ?  " 

"  How  so  ?  "  asked  Gerald. 

"  Because  he  was  born  in  that  house  there  under 
the  redwoods,"  said  the  elder  man  proudly;  "be- 
cause he  was  born  a  citizen  of  the  sovereign  State  of 
California,  and  is  eligible  to  be  President  of  the 
United  States,  or  will  be  in  thirty-three  years  time." 

Gerald  forebore  to  remind  the  ambitious  father 
that  many  thousands  are  born  every  year  with  the 
same  eligibility,  and  Mr.  Kearney  repeated  the 
words  several  times,  rolling  them  on  his  tongue  as 
if  he  savored  them. 

"  President  of  the  United  States !  And  why  not  ? 
Isn't  he  born  eligible  ?" 


230  UNDER    THE   REDWOOD   TREE. 

Little  Inga  made  a  good  recovery.  She  was  to 
all  appearance  a  delicate  child,  yet  the  disease 
seemed  to  have  taken  no  hold  of  her,  and  yielded 
quickly  to  Dr.  Granby's  skilful  treatment.  But 
the  very  day  the  orphan  was  officially  pronounced 
convalescent  Gerald  met  his  host  in  the  woods 
near  the  saw-mill,  wandering  bareheaded,  tossing 
his  arms  aloft  in  extravagant  gesticulation,  and  evi- 
dently a  prey  to  the  wildest  excitement. 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  to  me,  don't  talk  to  me  !  "  moaned 
the  distracted  man.  "  Jimmy's  got  the  faver." 

"  No,"  said  Gerald.  "  Oh,  don't  say  that,  Mr. 
Kearney.  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"The  doctor's  wid  him  now.  He  sent  me  out 
because  I  couldn't  rest  aisy." 

Knowing  how  the  poor  fellow  was  wrapped  up  in 
his  boy,  Ffrench  was  fully  able  to  appreciate  his  anx- 
iety. The  young  man  did  his  best  to  console  and 
cheer  his  friend,  and  urged  Jimmy's  strong  constitu- 
tion and  healthy  life,  but  the  father  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  the  strongest  that  have  it  the  worst.  Look 
at  that  donny  slip  of  a  girl  beyant,  an'  how  she  went 
through  wid  it." 

Ffrench  urged  that  this  was  hopeful,  since  the 
disease  would  seem  to  be  mild  in  type ;  but  Kear- 
ney could  take  little  comfort  from  this  argument. 


UNDER   THE   REDWOOD   TREE. 

"  We'll  see,  we'll  see,"  he  said,  and  presently 
re-entered  the  mill.  Gerald  did  not  meet  him  again 
that  day. 

Poor  Kearney's  worst  fears  were  realized.  The 
infection  that  had  touched  the  delicate  girl  so 
lightly  laid  firm  hold  on  the  sturdy  lad,  and  day  by 
day  he  grew  worse.  Dr.  Granby,  an  old  friend  of 
the  lumber  dealer,  almost  lived  at  Tacara,  and  ex- 
hausted all  that  science  could  do  in  behalf  of  the 
little  sufferer.  All  in  vain  !  After  an  illness  of  five 
days  Jimmy  died  about  eleven  o'clock  on  Monday 
morning. 

All  work  had  been  suspended  at  the  mill  during 
the  child's  sickness,  for  it  had  been  considered  in- 
expedient to  move  him  back  to  the  house,  and  the 
noise  of  the  great  saws  would  have  disturbed  him. 
Gerald,  who  .had  done  his  share  in  nursing  the  little 
patient,  was  with  him  at  the  last,  and  so,  of  course, 
was  his  father,  who  had  scarcely  left  the  bedside  or 
closed  an  eye  during  those  five  weary  days.  The 
old  man — he  had  begun  to  show  his  years  since 
Jimmy  sickened — was  holding  the  sufferer's  hand 
and  talking  in  a  strain  of  soothing  childish  babble, 
when  the  doctor  stepped  forward  and  drew  him 
away  from  the  bedside.  He  followed  his  friend 
unresistingly,  supposing  that  Dr.  Granby  had  some 


232  UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE. 

direction  to  give,  but  happening  to  glance  back  he 
realized  the  great  change  that  had  come  upon  the 
face  of  his  boy.  Then  his  grief  had  vent — passion- 
ate, unrestrained,  violent.  The  whole  nature  of  the 
man  seemed  altered.  Gerald  had  known  him  as  a 
decorous,  kindly  gentleman  ;  he  saw  him  now  as  a  sav- 
age. Leaping  back  he  seized  the  doctor  by  the  collar 
and  pinned  him  with  gigantic  force  against  the  wall. 

"  Answer  me,  ye  thafe,  answer  me  before  I  shake 
the  life  out  of  ye  !  Why  did  ye  kill  me  boy  ?  " 

Gerald  sprung  forward  to  the  assistance  of  Dr. 
Granby,  who  really  seemed  for  the  moment  in  per- 
sonal peril,  but  the  doctor  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 
Looking  the  frenzied  man  squarely  in  the  eye,  he  said: 

"  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  Michael  Kear- 
ney, to  show  your  black  passion  in  the  presence  of 
the  dead  ?  I  did  my  best  for  your  boy,  and  you 
know  it." 

The  other  relaxed  his  hold  and  glanced  again  at 
the  bed.  He  pushed  the  doctor  aside  and  flung 
himself  across  the  little  corpse  with  a  howl  of  an- 
guish that  sounded  scarcely  human. 

"  Ah,  Jimmy,  me  darlint,  me  beautiful  boy — why 
did  ye  die,  why  did  ye  die  ?  Ochone,  ochone  an' 
wirasthru  !  where  was  ever  the  like  o'  ye — so  bould, 
so  hearty,  so  full  o'  sperits  ?  It's  only  a  few  hours 


UNDER   THE   REDIVOOD   TREE.  233 

that  ye  were  runnin'  around  wid  twice  the  life  in  ye 
that  ever  I  had — an'  ye  so  young,  so  clever,  an'  born 
wid  such  a  grand  start !  Ah,  why  did  ye  die,  why 
did  ye  die  ?  " 

Inexpressibly  pained  and  shocked,  Gerald  tiptoed 
over  to  the  doctor.  The  stricken  father  was  still 
lying  across  the  bed,  and  his  loud  lamentations  sank 
into  inarticulate  moaning. 

"Hadn't  we  better  get  him  away?"  asked  the 
young  man  below  his  breath. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "  Impossible,"  he  re- 
plied. "  We  must  wait  till  this  paroxysm  exhausts 
itself.  I  have  seen  him  so  before — when  his  wife 
was  drowned." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  murmured  Ffrench. 

"  He  got  over  it  before  and  he  will  get  over  it 
again,"  said  the  doctor,  "  though,  to  be  sure,  he  had 
the  boy  then  and  he  has  no  one  now.  I  am  very 
fond  of  Mike  Kearney.  He  has  a  noble  heart,  but 
at  times  like  these  he  appears  at  his  worst.  Civil- 
ization and  education  came  to  him  rather  late  in 
life,  I  fancy,  and  when  such  a  grief  stirs  him  the 
depths  of  his  nature  corne  to  the  surface — the  nat- 
ure of  a  barbarian,  almost  of  an  animal." 

Again  the  powerful  voice  rose  in  wild  and  pur- 
poseless lamentation. 


234  UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE. 

"  All  I  had— God  help  me— all  the  life  that  was 
left  me,  an'  he  lyin'  there  like  a  log.  What  have  I 
done  that  the  like  should  come  to  me  ?  Now  it 
may  go,  but  divil  a  prayer  will  I  ever  say  ;  for  what 
have  I  to  pray  for  ?  Divil  resave  the  kind  word  or 
kind  thought  will  I  ever  give  to  anyone.  The 
whole  world  may  go  to  hell  for  me." 

He  rose  from  the  bed  and  drew  himself  up  to  his 
full  height.  His  face  was  very  pale,  and  every 
feature  was  working  with  emotion.  He  seemed  to 
have  aged  ten  years  in  the  few  days  that  had 
elapsed  since  Gerald  met  him. 

The  doctor  came  to  his  side.  "  Mr.  Kearney,"  he 
said,  "you  had  better  go  home  and  take  a  little 
rest.  I  will  walk  down  to  the  house  with  you." 

"  Home  !  "  thundered  Kearney  ;  "  what  sort  of  a 
home  have  I  ?  Why  should  I  go  to  the  house 
when  it's  here  me  little  Jimmy  is  lyin'  an'  a  stran- 
ger's brat  below  there  in  his  place  ?  Ay,  but  I  will 
go ;  she  killed  him— it's  herself  brought  the  death 
to  him.  Begorra,  I  will  go  home,  if  it's  only  to 
throw  Jimmy's  murderer  out  of  it." 

He  stepped  to  the  bedside  and  bent  over  the 
child's  form.  "  Good-by  to  ye,  Jimmy,  me  dar- 
lint,"  he  whispered  in  a  tone  of  infinite. tenderness, 
"  though  it's  little  use  kissin'  cowld  clay.  Come, 


UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE. 

boys  ;  I'm  goin'  home,"  he  added,  turning  from  the 
bed. 

A  woman  had  been  hired  to  act  as  nurse  during 
the  boy's  illness.  Terrified  by  Kearney's  extrava- 
gant grief,  she  had  been  cowering  in  a  corner  of  the 
room.  She  now  came  forward,  as  the  men  left  the 
place,  and  busied  herself  in  bestowing  the  last  at- 
tentions that  little  Jimmy  would  ever  need  at  hu- 
man hands. 

Through  the  dim  aisles  of  the  redwood  forest, 
over  the  soft,  thick  carpet  of  withered  pine-needles, 
under  the  giant  branches  murmuring  their  eternal 
monotone,  the  three  men  passed  to  the  lonely 
house  by  the  tide-water.  Kearney  was  a  little  in 
advance,  tossing  his  arms,  shaking  his  head,  gesticu- 
lating wildly,  and  muttering  a  broken  jargon,  half 
English,  half  Irish,  that  mingled  discordantly  with 
the  rustle  of  the  passionless  pines.  Gerald  thought 
that  grief  had  crazed  the  poor  fellow,  but  suddenly 
he  turned  and  addressed  the  young  man,  rationally 
enough,  though  in  an  unexpected  manner. 

"  Mr.  Ffrench,  I  liked  ye  the  first  time  I  seen  ye, 
an'  I  like  ye  yet,  but  ye  see  for  yerself  that  ye  bro't 
no  luck  to  me.  'Twas  the  first  day  ye  come  here 
that  Norway  chap  fell  under  the  log — the  only 
man  ever  I  lost  in  five  and  twenty  years'  lumberin', 


236  UNDER    THE   REDWOOD    TREE. 

an'  nothin's  gone  right  with  me  since.  It's  all  led 
up  to  one  p'int,  an'  that  is —  His  voice  broke, 
but  after  a  moment's  pause  he  went  on,  controlling 
himself  with  a  mighty  effort  : 

"  I'll  ax  ye  to  go  home,  Mr.  Ffrench— off  down 
the  coast  where  ye  belong,  or  out  o'  Tacara  anyhow. 
In  ten  years'  time,  if  I  live  that  long,  I'd  like  to  see 
ye  ag'in  ;  but  now  I  can't  bear  to  look  on  your  face.  " 

"  Whatever  you  like,  Mr.  Kearney,"  answered 
Gerald.  "  I  had  hoped  to  stay  here  and  perhaps 
be  of  use  to  you  in  the  first  days  of  your  trouble, 
in  return  for  all  your  kindness  to  me,  but  if  my 
presence  is  painful  to  you— 

"  Ye'd  betther  go,  ye'd  betther  go,"  said  Kearney, 
huskily.  "  Ye'll  be  goin'  to  Eureka  to-day,  doctor, 

I  suppose  ;  ye've  done  yer  d '  He  checked 

himself.  "  There's  nothin'  more  for  ye  to  do  here, 
an'  ye'll  take  the  young  man  wid  ye." 

They  had  just  emerged  from  the  shades  of  the 
great  trees  and  were  entering  the  clearing  in  which 
the  house  stood.  Kearney  was  a  little  in  advance, 
when  Gerald  saw  him  abruptly  stop  and  cover  his 
face  with  his  hands.  Little  Inga  was  running  from 
the  door  to  meet  them,  and  she  went  straight  to 
the  father  with  a  loving  inquiry  for  Jimmy. 

"  Take  her  away,  take  her   away,"  he   muttered 


UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE.  237 

hoarsely  ;  "  don't  let  me  see  her."  Then  he  faced 
round  on  the  child,  who  shrank  back,  trembling  at 
his  white  face  and  blazing  eyes.  And  then  with 
uplifted  hand  he  cursed  her. 

"  For  shame,  Mr.  Kearney,  for  shame  ! "  cried 
Dr.  Granby,  springing  forward.  "  The  little  girl  is 
not  to  blame." 

"  Who  said  she  was  ?  "  said  Kearney.  "  I  wish 
she  had  done  it  a  purpose,  an'  I'd  '  a'  had  one  mo- 
ment's happiness  while  I  was  tearin'  her  to  pieces. 
But  out  she  goes — the  home  she's  brought  sorrow 
to  is  no  place  for  her  ;  out  she  goes.  The  world's 
big  an'  broad  outside  o'  Tacara." 

Astounded  at  such  words  from  lips  that  had 
never  yet  breathed  aught  for  her  but  kindness,  Inga 
crouched  on  the  ground  at  the  old  man's  feet.  As 
was  her  way  in  trouble,  she  had  flung  the  little 
apron  over  her  head  and  was  weeping,  as  her  heav- 
ing shoulders  testified,  but  weeping  silently.  Ger- 
ald stepped  forward. 

"  Mr.  Kearney,"  he  said,  "  when  I  saw  how  you 
took  that  poor  orphan  from  her  dead  father's  side, 
how  you  comforted  her  and  made  her  future  your 
care,  I  thought  1  had  never  seen  so  noble  a  deed  so 
kindly  and  graciously  done.  But  now,  sir,  if  you 
cast  her  off  and  break  her  little  heart  with  your 


238  UNDER    THE   REDWOOD   TREE. 

cruelty,  I  don't  care  who  you  are,  I  don't  care  what 
your  grief  may  be — you  are  a  brute." 

Moved  by  the  child's  piteous  figure,  Gerald 
spoke  hotly,  without  weighing  his  words  or  taking 
much  thought  of  their  consequences.  As  he  ceased 
speaking  he  drew  back  a  step,  for  Kearney's  eye 
and  manner  were  threatening,  and  the  journalist 
looked  for  an  immediate  assault.  But  the  issue 
was  otherwise. 

"  Who's  axin'  to  hurt  the  child  ?  Take  her 
away,  do  what  ye  choose  wid  her,  but  ye  might  as 
well  ax  me  to  stare  at  the  sun  at  noonday  as  bear 
the  sight  o'  her.  I  can't  do  it.  She  hurts  me  eyes, 
she  hurts  me  heart.  I'll  tell  ye  what,  Mr.  Ffrench," 
and  Kearney  came  to  his  side  with  eager  step  and 
an  almost  fawning  manner — "  can't  ye  take  her  back 
to  Frisco  wid  ye  ?  Oh,  don't  think  of  the  expense 
—I'll  bear  that,  I'll  provide  for  her  for  life,  only 
don't  ax  me  to  see  her.  Take  her  wid  ye.  Sure 
there  must  be  schools  or  the  like  down  the  coast 
where  they'll  take  childher  if  they're  well  ped  for  it. 
There  is  for  boys,  anyhow,  for  I  had  one  in  me 
mind  for  Jimmy — God  help  me,  for  Jimmy  ; '' 
and  the  strong  man  fairly  broke  down,  and  cover- 
ing his  face  with  his  hands,  sobbed  aloud. 

"  Don't  interfere  with  him,  don't  speak  to  him," 


UNDER   THE  REDWOOD   TREE, 

said  Dr.  Granby  ;  "  that'll  do  him  more  good  than 
anything  else.  You  go  into  the  house  and  get  your 
belongings  together  while  I  go  round  for  the  wagon. 
We'll  start  for  Eureka  at  once  ;  and  of  course  you'll 
take  the  child,  as  he  says." 

"  I  don't  know,"  murmured  Gerald,  helplessly. 
"  Such  a  charge  is  altogether  out  of  my  line." 

"  You  will  take  her  to  San  Francisco  and  put  her 
at  a  good  school.  There  your  responsibility  ends, 
for  Kearney  will  certainly  be  as  good  as  his  word, 
and  provide  for  her  well." 

Before  Ffrench  could  answer,  Inga  had  come  to 
his  side  and  slipped  her  little  hand  into  his.  The 
child  had  the  faculty  of  making  friends  in  her 
loneliness  ;  and  Gerald,  with  a  puzzled  sense  of 
unfitness,  accepted  the  trust. 

Kearney  was  lying  on  the  ground,  face  down- 
ward, his  whole  frame  shaken  by  emotion.  He 
seemed  to  be  utterly  regardless  of  what  was  passing  ; 
but  as  Gerald  led  the  little  waif  toward  the  house, 
he  raised  his  head.  "Ye  needn't  be  afeard,  Mr. 
Ffrench,"  he  said.  "  I'll  do  all  that  I  said,  an'  I'll 
write  to  me  agent  in  Frisco  to  settle  it  all."  Then 
turning  to  Inga,  who  had  shrunk  trembling  to 
Ffrench's  side  at  the  first  sound  of  Mr.  Kearney's 
voice,  he  added  :  "  Don't  be  afeard,  you  either, 


240  UNDER   THE   REDWOOD   TREE. 

little  girl.  I've  no  hard  feelings  left  for  ye  at  all, 
at  all  ;  only,  God  forgive  ye,  ye've  broken  me 
heart." 

These  were  the  last  words  Gerald  heard  him 
speak.  When  the  sound  of  wheels  announced  the 
departure,  Kearney  raised  his  head  for  a  moment 
and  waved  his  hand  in  farewell ;  then  he  let  his  face 
sink  on  the  ground  again  and  lay  as  still  as  if  sleep- 
ing. The  shadows  of  the  redwoods  were  growing 
longer  as  the  sun  sank  toward  the  west,  but  the 
house  was  still  clothed  in  the  brightness  of  the 
autumn  afternoon. 

"  He'll  be  better  so,"  the  doctor  said  as  he  urged 
the  team  up  the  steep  track.  "  An  hour's  sleep,  let 
him  get  it  how  or  where  he  can,  will  be  worth  much 
to  his  tired  and  tortured  brain." 

Gerald  looked  back  as  the  wagon  reached  a  turn 
in  the  road.  The  house  was  still  visible,  and  the 
long,  dark  shadow  of  the  redwood  forest  had  crept 
closer  to  the  prostrate  man.  The  doctor  stood  up 
and  looked  back. 

"He's  certainly  asleep,"  he  observed.  "When 
the  sun  leaves  him  he'll  wake  because  of  the  cold." 

Poor  Kearney  !  He  would  awake  in  time  to  see 
the  shadow  on  his  home. 


THREE  STRIKING  BOOKS 


THE  ISLAND:  A  NOVEL. 

An  Adventure  of  a  Person  of  Quality.    By  RICHARD  WHITEING. 
Crown  8vo,  $1.50. 

"Ricbard  Whiteing  has  given  us  in  '  The  Island'  a  rare  intellectual  pleasure. 
.  .  .  His  book  comes  quite  unheralded,  and  its  title  promises  nothing  thrill- 
Ing  ;  but  in  a  very  few  minutes  the  reader  is  conscious  that  he  has  got  hold  of  a 
book  (as  Carlyle  would  write  it)."— Critic,  New  York. 

' '  From  a  literary  point  of  view  the  book  is  strong.  For  the  reason  that  almost 
every  page  is  quotable  we  cite  nothing,  but  we  recommend  this  volume  to  put 
upon  your  shelves."— Christian  Union. 

"  A  romantic  charm  pervades  this  story."— New  York  Star. 

"...  A  more  than  creditable  piece  of  literary  work.  .  .  .  We  trust  we 
have  said  enough  of  '  The  Island '  to  show  that  readers  who  enjoy  literary  refine' 
ment  cannot  afford  not  to  read  it."— New  York  Times. 

"  A  book  of  unusual  cleverness.  .  .  .  One  seldom  finds  in  a  work  of  this 
kind  philosophy,  wit,  satire,  and  fiction  so  well  blended."— Journalist. 

"...  The  book  abounds  in  telling  pictures.  .  .  .  We  have  no  space  for 
half  the  quotable  things  in  this  entertaining  squib."— Literary  World. 


A   ROMANCE  BY  A   NEW   WHITER. 

MARAHUNA. 

By  H.  B.  MARRIOTT  WATSON.     12mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  A  very  wonderful  story  of  a  wonderful  being."— Qaeen. 

"  The  plot  is  original,  and  the  tale  is  well  told.  .  .  .  The  romance  is  decid- 
edly refreshing,  if  only  for  the  novelty  of  its  style.  It  will  probably  be  read  by 
thousands,  who  will  find  themselves  unable  to  lay  it  down  when  once  they  have 
taken  it  in  hand."— United  Service  Gazette. 

".  .  .  A  romance  which  compares  favorably  with  any  of  the  tales  of  won- 
der which  have  followed  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Rider  Haggard's  '  She.'" 

— Art  Amateur. 

"  A  very  clever  story  and  one  deserving  to  be  read  by  the  judicious." 

—Saturday  Review. 

ONE  TRAVELLER   RETURNS. 

By  D.  CHRISTIE  MURRAY  and  HENRY  HERMAN.     12mo,  cloth, 
$1.00  ;  paper  cover,  50  cents. 

"  Full  of  dramai  ic  and  stirring  situations."— iV.  Y.  Star. 

"  A  book  of  marked  originality ;  .  .  .  as  a  piece  of  purely  literary  work  it 
is  hard  to  find  fault  with  '  One  Traveller  Returns.'  "—Chicago  Morning  News. 

"The  story  is  a  strong,  interesting,  and  profitable  one." 

— Hartford  Evening  Post. 

"  The  book  is,  first  of  all  picturesque,  .  .  .  its  dramatic  quality  is  highly 
imaginative."—  The  Critic. 


New  York :  LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  GO. 


NEW   BOOKS   OF  TRAVEL. 


THE  LONG  WHITE  MOUNTAIN  ;  Or,  A  Journey  in  Manchuria,  with 
an  Account  of  the  History,  Administration,  and  Religion  of  that  Province.  By 
H.  E.  JAMES  of  Her  Majesty's  Bombay  Civil  Service.  With  a  Map,  10  full-page 
illustrations,  and  28  illustrations  in  the  text.  8vo,  cloth,  $6.00. 
"  This  volume  is  very  readable.  .  .  .  It  approaches  that  empire  (China)  from. 
a  fresh  direction,  and  places  the  people  and  land  in  a  new  light."— N.  Y.  Times. 

"...  A  lucid  and  comprehensive  account  of  the  history,  people,  administra- 
tion, and  religion  of  that  country."—-^.  Y.  Sun. 

"  Readers  in  search  of  something  new,  students,  politicians,  and  geographers  may 
all  profit  by  the  perusal  of  this  book."— Spectator. 

"His  style  is  pleasing  and  straightforward,  and  combines  qualities  which  make 
his  book  the  best  on  the  subject.  ...  As  a  popular  and  accurate  description  of 
Manchuria  we  heartily  commend  this  book,  which  in  its  mechanical  outfit  has  a 
dress  worthy  of  its  sterling  contents."— N.  Y.  Nation. 

"A  volume  which  will  rank  high  among  the  most  interesting  books  of  travel  pro- 
duced in  recent  years.  ...  It  describes  a  remarkable  piece  of  travel  lately  don© 
by  three  Englishmen,  who  seem  to  have  the  true  British  taste  lor  untrodden  paths, 
together  with  a  genuine  love  of  hard  marches  and  a  genial  unconsciousness  of  their 
ditficulties  and  dangers.  .  .  .  The  book  is  a  most  modest  record  of  manly  travel, 
and  is  of  permanent  vaiue  for  its  careful  and  accurate  account  of  the  little-known 
country  which  now  alone  separates  China  from  Russia."— Times. 

"  An  extremely  interesting  volume.  .  .  .  The  reader  will  not  find  many  books 
of  travel  in  China  which  contain  so  much  new  matter  as  is  preserved  in  this  volume." 

—The  Astatic  Quarterly  Review. 

EARLY  ADVENTURES  IN  PERSIA,  SUSIANA,  AND  BABY- 
LONIA. Including  a  residence  among  the  Bakhtiyari  and  other  wild  tribes, 
before  the  discovery  of  Nineveh.  By  Sir  HENRY  LAYARD,  G.C.B.,  author  of 
"Nineveh  and  Its  Remains,"  etc.  In  two  volumes,  8vo,  cloth,  with  colored 
frontispiece  and  illustrations  and  maps,  $7.50. 
"  A  stirring  record  of  adventure."— N.  Y.  Tribune. 

.    From  the  merely  instructive  point  of  view,  Sir  Henry  Layard's  new  book 

is  a  welcome  addition  to  the  literature  of  travel    .    .    .    i;  abounds  with  interest. 

It  is  indeed  a  charmingly  told  story  of  genuine  adventure    ...    in  one  of  the  most 

interesting  regions  of  the  world."— London  Times. 

"...    Full  of  attraction  to  a  large  circle  of  readers  and  students."— Atfienceum, 

PICTURESQUE  NEW  GUINEA.  With  an  Historical  Introduction  and 
Supplementary  Chapters  on  the  Manners  and  Customs  of  the  Papuans  By 
J.  W.  LINDT,  F.RsG.S.  Accompanied  with  50  full-page  autotype  illustrations 
from  negatives  of  portraits  from  life  and  groups  and  landscapes  from  nature. 
Crown  4to,  $15.00. 

OUR  SENTIMENTAL  JOURNEY  THROUGH  FRANCE  AND 
ITALY.     By  JOSEPH  and  ELIZABETH  ROBINS  PENNELL,  authors  of  "A 
Canterbury  Pilgrimage,"  etc.,  etc.    With  map  and  124  illustrations  by  Joseph 
Pennell.    Crown  8vo,  cloth,  $1.75. 
"  .        .    Very  good  and  satisfactory  of  its  kind,  and  highly  diverting." 

—Times,  New  York. 

"The  book  is  charmingly  made."— American,  Philadelphia. 

"There  is  something  of  the  quality  of  apollinaris  about  this  pleasing  book.  It  is 
light  and  sparkling ;  its  descriptions  will  be  palatable,  even  to  those  who  care  least 
for  books  of  travel."— Philadelphia  Ledger. 

"The  authors  are  brimful  of  vitality,  and  nothing  which  has  a  humorous  side 
escapes  them."— Independent,  New  York. 

"  A  very  pretty  volume."— Nation,  New  York. 

"  Profusely  illustrated  by  charming  wayside  sketches,  .  .  .  and  some  humor- 
ous suggestions  of  the  more  unhappv  features  of  the  journey,"— Christian  Umon. 

"  A  volume  of  uncommon  and  rather  eccentric  charm."— Sun,  New  York 


NEW  YORK:  LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO. 


